Meet The Bensons
by Power of the Pen12
Summary: A many-chaptered Seddie lovefest, complete with tension, friendship, romance, and, if you squint, a storyline. Sequel to my other fanfiction, iKiss, iMiss". FINISHED!
1. Chapter 1

**This story is A SEQUEL to my other fan fiction, "iKiss, iMiss". If you don't read that fic first, this story won't make a whole lot of sense. I finished this chapter on Sunday, but the site was having issues, so I couldn't post it. ****L**

**If you didn't read my other fic first, then here's a few things you should know:**

**This takes place after iKiss.**

**Freddie and Carly dated at one point, as did Sam and Jake.**

**Freddie and Sam have admitted their feelings for each other, and are now dating.**

**Okay! I think you're good! Enjoy "Meet The Bensons". **

I shifted in my cocoon of fuzzy blankets, a lazy smile twisting the corners of my lips. My mind wandered aimlessly, and I didn't bother trying to follow my train of thought; I let it derail completely.

How long had I been sitting in this position? An hour? Maybe two? It was complete heaven- I felt as though my depraved two year old self had come back to claim its nonexistent childhood happiness. I could stay like this forever.

"Sam," a warm voice murmured at my left ear. I would've groaned in disapproval at the disturbance of my sleepy haven, but the voice was so familiar, and as comforting as the blankets.

"Mmph," I mumbled. My eyelids weighed a ton at least; to open them would be like lifting twin elephants… with my eyes. The image was so ridiculous, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Sam, you gotta get up," the voice said. I frowned.

"No," I sighed, drawing out the word until it stretched to five syllables. The voice snickered; I cracked open an eyelid, entranced by the sound.

Freddie Benson was splayed across two bean bag chairs opposite me, grinning fondly at yours truly. It puzzled me for a moment, why he was there; then I remembered. Oh. This was his house; his room, to be specific. I was the guest, so I couldn't order him to leave and let me drift further into the pleasant depths of my unconsciousness.

"How long've I been here?" I asked, yawning generously and stretching. A blanket fell from my right arm, and the cold air startled me. "And why am I wrapped up like this?"

"You've been here, at my house, for two hours," Freddie said, flipping off the bean bag chairs and crawling closer to me. "You been like that, wrapped up in every blanket in the house, for about half an hour. You've been asleep for fifteen minutes at least."

I gaped at him in horror. "And you just let me sleep?"

He shrugged. "You looked peaceful."

I threw a blanket at him, then whined for him to give it back. "It's cold," I complained. "Why is it so cold?"

"Because, Sam," Freddie said. "It's eleven at night, in the middle of winter."

"Is not," I argued. "Winter ended. That groundhog, Phil something, didn't see his shadow."

Freddie burst out laughing. "You really are sleepy!" he said, handing me back the blanket I had chucked at him.

"Yes, I am," I said. "So, if you had a kind bone in your scrawny body, you'd fill me in on a few things I've forgotten."

"Like what?"

"Like why the hell am I in your room, at eleven o'clock at night?"

Freddie crawled still closer to me. "You really don't remember?" he asked. I shook my head; the motion dizzied me, and I fell back on the floor.

"Okay," Freddie said. "You might not believe me at first, but once you wake up…"

"Talk, Fredward."

"All right. We went to the school dance. Do you remember?"

I thought for a moment. Memories, disconnected and random, flitted through my mind, yet quickly disappeared. My pensive expression must have tipped him off.

"Okay, you don't remember. You went with Jake, I went with Carly."

Ugh. Carly. I remembered something; hatred towards my best friend, unnatural yet quite explained. She had danced with Freddie… A dance contest…

"We competed in the school dancing contest; afterwards, I asked to speak to you alone. We spoke; you… you said something to me. D'you remember anything?"

Freddie's hangdog expression was killing me. Why was it killing me? Didn't I usually love to crush the nerd's spirits?

And then, like a tidal wave, the night's events came crashing over me, each memory scrambling to be recognized and understood. I had blurted out to Freddie that I loved him, and, surprisingly enough, it was true. After chasing me down (I had run, apparently; that's why my feet hurt so much) Freddie had admitted something of the same nature. We had gone back to the dance, had a nice evening, walked to his house, broke the news to his mom, blah blah blah.

"Oh," I said softly. Freddie's eyes were brimming with fear and concern; the concern I could understand, but the fear?

"You okay?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Are you?"

I surveyed Freddie carefully. "Why are you upset? I just have a little bit of a memory lapse. It's no big deal."

He relaxed, releasing a breath I hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I thought… I thought for a second…"

Realization punctured through the last of my drowsiness. "You thought I didn't love you?"

Freddie flinched. "You don't have to say it like that."

I lunged at him, though my skin cried out for the warmth of my blanket cocoon the minute I left. I crashed into Freddie, and we toppled to the floor; I smothered his face with quick, shallow kisses, much like he had done to me earlier that evening.

"S-Sam!" Freddie gasped, trying to push me away. "I can't breathe here!"

I laughed, wrapping my arms around his stomach and bringing him down on top of me. We flipped backward; I hit my head painfully on his bedpost. Trying to numb the throbbing pain, I grabbed Freddie's shoulders to keep him from rising.

"This is nice," I mumbled, the weight of Freddie on top of me somehow relaxing. Speaking of Freddie's weight…

"You're heavy!" I complained, pushing him away. Freddie stifled his laughter with the sleeve of his shirt.

"You are the most confusing person I've ever met," he sighed. I wagged a finger at him threateningly.

"Hey! Don't say confusing. Say confuzzling. Confuzzling is better," I demanded. Freddie raised an eyebrow.

" 'Confuzzling' isn't even a word," he said.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too times infinity!"

"Sam, if you look up 'confuzzling' in the dictionary, you wouldn't-- hey!" Before he could finish his painfully nerdy statement, I slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Con-fuzz-ling," I said, stressing each syllable. "Get used to it."

Freddie rolled his eyes, pulling my hand from his mouth. I grinned.

"You just can't win," I said triumphantly. "I thought you'd learned that by now."

Freddie took a deep breath, his eyes burning with the careful fire I had grown to love. Leaning in, he wrapped one arm around my neck, one around my waist, and kissed me, his lips curling against mine, trying to fight a smile.

"I win," he said, drinking in my punch-drunk expression with a smirk. I tried my best to glare.

"This could be a problem," I muttered. He nodded.

"You're telling me! Now, whenever you start to get annoying, I have to kiss you," he complained, a laugh choking off the last few words as I grabbed a pillow, beating his chest and head thoroughly.

"Fredward Benson!"

We both looked up, supercilious smiles fading from our faces. Mrs. Benson, glowering with her hands on her hips, stood like the messenger of death in the doorway.

"Sorry, mom," Freddie mumbled. "We were just fooling around."

Mrs. Benson's eyes had never left my face; she glared distinctly at my hands, which were still clutching the pillow I had used to beat her son. I dropped it as though it were lit on fire.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Benson," I said sweetly, trying my best to look remorseful. "Freddie and I were just having a pillow fight. We'll clean up."

Mrs. Benson stared frankly at me, surprised that 'Carly's rude friend' had finally showed her some respect. "All right," she said uncertainly, and left without another word.

As I bent to pick up a bundle of clumped blankets, Freddie threw himself at me, his arms tangling themselves around my waist.

"Whoa, there!" I exclaimed. "What gives? I'm trying to clean, here. Don't interrupt my concentration; I think I've forgotten how. It's been a long time since I cleaned anything."

"Except Carly's fridge," Freddie mumbled. "Oh my god, Sam, thank you so much! You were, like, a lady, practically! I thought this was gonna be an issue."

I stiffened. "You thought my manners were going to be an issue?"

Freddie removed himself from my ribs, looking uncomfortable. "No. No, of course not. But- Sam, y'know how my mom is. I thought for sure you two would have some problems."

I nodded, shrugging off the slight insult for the time being. "Are you gonna help me clean or not?"

Freddie snatched the blankets from my limp fingers and tossed them over my head, keeping a perfect deadpan expression. "There."

I growled ominously, my smile hidden by the layers of colorful fabric.

"Oh no!" Freddie cried, laughter bubbling from both our throats. "It's the blanket monster!"

I pulled the blankets from my head. "Seriously, Freddie?" I said. "Blanket monster? You couldn't have come up with a better name than the blanket monster?"

Freddie blushed. "Throw those on my bed. I'll deal with them tomorrow."

A thought struck me, one so terrifying it ruined my scarily good mood. "Freddie," I gulped, "where will I sleep tonight?"

"Here," he said without missing a beat. "I convinced my mom while you were curled up in your blanket nest. You'll sleep on the floor- if that's okay- and at no time during the night will we be touching."

"Your mom's words, I hope," I grinned. He nodded.

"If I so much as step on your head while I'm getting up to get a drink, we're both dead," he said.

"If you step on my head, you better believe you're dead!" I growled, trying my best to look intimidating. It didn't work.

We cleaned in silence- and by 'clean' I mean 'toss all of the crap on Freddie's floor to the end of his bed, hoping his mom wouldn't notice'. I thought to break the eerie quiet a few times, but there seemed to be no need for speech, so I held off. Freddie examined a blanket moodily for a few minutes, obviously lost in thought.

"Clean," I yawned, presenting the cleared floor space with a wave of my hands. "Or as clean as it's ever going to get, with me helping."

"Hey, help me set up the cot," Freddie said, grabbing a folded cot from his closet. We expanded the metal frame, placing the surprisingly thick mattress over it to complete my 'bed'. I spread my favorite blanket over it all, placing a pillow at the top, and stepped back proudly to observe my work.

"It's beautiful," Freddie said dryly. I stuck out my tongue at him, and jumped onto my bed, feeling extremely grateful that I had changed into an old T-shirt before I had fallen asleep.

"Hey, Sam?"

Freddie's tentative voice almost scared me; he sounded like he had in fifth grade, when I was his worst nightmare. "Uh, yeah?" I stuttered.

"Let's not mention this to anyone, okay?" he said quietly. "It'll seem weird, you sleeping over my house, leaving in the morning wearing one of my T-shirts."

I felt my stomach drop. "Oh. Yeah. Makes sense," I mumbled. "Oh, Freddie," I gasped, a thought striking me unexpectedly. "Carly's right across the way. How will I leave in the morning without her seeing?"

Freddie's eyes shined with guilt; he bit his lower lip, his head bending slightly to look incredibly pathetic- and lovable. My eyes narrowed.

"She knows, doesn't she?" I spat through gritted teeth. He held up his hands in defense.

"It's not my fault!"

"That's what they all say."

"What are you, a cop?"

"Freddie…"

He sighed. "My mom forgot to get the mail today. I was going to check our mailbox in the lobby when Carly showed up with Jake--"

"Jake _knows_?"

"--and Jake left automatically," Freddie continued, his voice rising. "We never did get along, you know. So Carly began bugging me about you, and…"

I buried my face in the pillow, lips pressed together so tight they became white. I rose slowly from the fabric, fixing Freddie with a hardened glare. "Okay, I guess she'd find out somehow. But still…"

"I'm sorry." And Freddie's voice did indeed sound sorry, so broken and repentant that I couldn't stay mad.

"How about this? If you let me go to sleep, then you're forgiven," I suggested. He smiled.

"Sounds good." We both crawled into our respective beds; I twisted and turned for a moment, getting comfortable in the unfamiliar mattress. Freddie lay still, finding a comfortable place immediately. He hit the light switch next to his bed; we were shrouded in darkness, so complete and impenetrable it looked thick; even solid. I reached a hand in front of me, grasping at air.

"Looking for anything?" Freddie's smirking voice rang out from somewhere to my left. I blushed, my hand retreating under the blankets again. Freddie's eyes adapted quickly to the dark, I noted.

"You step on my head, you're a dead boy," I warned. "Understand that, Benson?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Shut up."

"Can do."

I grinned into my pillow, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, here it is. The second installment of "Meet The Bensons." I hope you all like it. R&R please!**

With a great yawn, I emerged from the complicated and painfully revealing world of sleep. My eyes flickered around the room, spots of light obscuring my vision.

A cheerful ray of morning sunlight shone through the thin drapes covering the window over Freddie's bed. The light, however dim, had me cowering under the blankets in a second, shielding my eyes from the blinding sensation. I guess after spending hours in a world of pure darkness, even the faintest candle would burn.

I expected to hear Freddie's voice calling out a mumbled greeting, and was a bit disappointed when all that met my ears was the chirp of an eccentric sparrow. Rolling over on my side, I gazed up at Freddie's bed, five inches taller than my little cot.

Freddie's sleeping form rose and fell as he breathed in a steady pattern, his lips parted slightly to allow the air through. His eyes were closed and peaceful; no lines of worry creased his forehead, his dreams remaining sweet. The boy's tousled hair obscured his pale forehead, a few stray hairs almost reaching his eyes. Freddie's arms lay gently by his sides, for all the world looking like a male Snow White.

I stared at him a while longer, pondering. Freddie was probably the kindest boy I knew, yet also the most innocent, making him an easy target for people like myself. I hoped with all my heart that he had stayed clear of the other Sams in the world; he was better off without me anyway. I couldn't change who I was; a screwed up delinquent-to-be. Yet he wanted me, had always accepted the best parts of me at some level, and I had lashed out again and again, an untamed tiger striking ferociously at her trainer.

The window was cracked open a tad, and a cool yet not wholly unpleasant breeze washed over the room, ruffling Freddie's hair further and causing me to shiver. I hoped he wouldn't wake.

Crawling out from under the covers (an extra blanket had been added to my stack over the night; Freddie's doing?) I slid to the floor, crawling spider-like to Freddie's bed, hooking cold fingers around his mattress to hoist myself up next to him. Freddie rolled gently, staying firmly asleep while allowing me more room to maneuver. If his mom walked in, I was dead. No question about it.

I slid my legs under the blankets, inviting the warmth to chase away the morning coolness from my exposed calves and feet. Pressing my head to Freddie's shoulder, I was overcome with serenity, feeling overwhelmingly complete just lying there. In another time, I would have pushed the boy from his bed, pulling some obscene prank and laughing in satisfaction at the dazed and horrified expression he would make after waking. But now the thought didn't even cross my post-sleep mind.

"Sam," Freddie mumbled, and I thought for a terrifying minute that he had awoken, to find me snuggling like a three year old against his shoulder. Sure, Freddie claimed he loved me, but that wouldn't stop him snickering at my expense.

I tensed, my hands slithering back to my sides and clamping there, clam like, but Freddie didn't speak again; it had only been mindless sleep chatter. I took a moment to feel honored that I was somehow involved in Freddie's dream before curling the blankets closer around me, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Sure, I probably should have escaped while I had the chance, but I was too comfortable now, and fully expected to drop back off into slumber myself.

Then Freddie froze oddly beside me, his breathing becoming irregular as he stretched his legs and tossed his head from side to side. The disorienting moments between consciousness and unconsciousness passed, and his eyes opened, blinking against the faint sunlight as I had.

"Morning," I said weakly, knowing far too well that it was too late to roll back to my cot.

"Sam?"

Freddie flipped to face me, his eyes full of shock and unfocused with sleep. My arms were still wrapped loosely around his shoulders, and I scrambled to pull them back, hitting him twice in my haste.

"What're you doing?" he slurred, trying to awaken himself further by glancing at the direct sunlight. "How'd you get up here?"

"Sorry," was all I could say, feel inexplicably childish. My embarrassment was so high, I barely comprehended how close we were, eyelashes almost touching.

He smiled. "You crawled up here." It wasn't a question, so much as a statement yearning for more information.

"I was…" What was I supposed to say? I was cold? Scared? Needy?

"You looked cute," I said eventually, the honesty surprising me. Well, it was true.

Freddie laughed, the sound fatigued and pleased. I felt his stunted breath in my hair.

"That's… incredibly sweet, and unnervingly un-Samlike," said Freddie. "Let me get this straight. You woke up, saw me sleeping, thought I looked cute, and crawled into my bed to fall asleep beside me?"

I was a bit put out at his amused tone. "Yes, basically. I'm regretting it now."

"Don't!" Freddie hugged me quickly, his bemused expression suggesting something else was on his mind. "It's just not very like you to see me resting and deciding not to, I don't know, smash a pie in my face."

"Don't be stupid!" I snorted. "If there was a pie in reach right now, don't you think I would eat it instead of wasting it on your face?"

"There's the Sam I know." Freddie kissed my hair, bringing a blush to my cheeks. "Okay. Get out."

I protested futilely as Freddie forced me from his bed, sending me toppling back on to the cot a few feet away. "That was fun!" I giggled breathlessly. "Do it again!"

"What are you, five?" Freddie asked, exasperated. I nodded vigorously.

"I'll be six next June," I said in a singsong voice, causing Freddie to hide his involuntarily smile behind a hand.

"What time is it?" he asked. I shrugged.

"You tell me. You live here. Where's a clock? Oh, forget it, I have my cell phone."

I pulled my phone out from under the cot (luckily I had stashed my phone in my purse when I had gone to the dance) and flipped it open. It had stayed on all night, and was now whining about its low battery.

"Shut up," I muttered. Freddie looked affronted.

"Excuse me?"

"Not you, Fredweird, the phone."

"You talk to your phone?"

"Maybe."

"You need to get out more, find some real humans to talk to."

I ignored him, waiting impatiently as the two year old phone slowly turned on. Finally, flashing numbers in the lower left hand screen informed me that it was 6:30 AM. I reported this to Freddie.

"Okay, let's get up," Freddie sighed, tumbling from his bed. I stepped purposefully from my cot, nudging Freddie with my toe as he struggled to pick himself up from the floor.

"We have legs for a reason, Freddie. It's so we can use them, like this," I said, walking slowly across the room. "No need to flop around like a dying fish."

"Oh, ha-ha."

I reached the door first, forcing it open and peering out into the darkened hallway. I had never been in Freddie's house before, save for a few times when I had just gone in to drag Freddie out against his will.

I took in the unfamiliar surroundings, entering the cool hallway and shivering at the lack of heat. Different questions died on my lips as I slipped clumsily along the thick carpet.

A light blazed suddenly overhead; I threw my hands up over my head as though warding off an attack. I glanced about to find Freddie standing by the light switch. Smiling self-consciously, I gestured with a nod of my head and we traveled further across his apartment, my eyes raking up and down the walls containing pictures, portraits, and awards.

I turned to Freddie, who was awaiting my evaluation of his home. "Nice," I said. "A bit heavy on the whole award thing- they give out an award for Full Attendance?"

I had just spotted a particularly nerdy certificate, hung in a place of honor for all to see. It read, "Fredward Benson, Full Attendance, Fifth Grade". Quick and to the point.

A biting comment scrambled to fall from my lips. I pressed my teeth together, my tongue working furiously to keep from shouting the most scathing of insults to the harmless boy I was so accustomed to picking on.

"Oh, go ahead," I heard from behind me, followed by a resigned sigh. "You know you want to."

"N-no, it's… it's fine," I choked out, barely suppressing a particularly nasty comment. "Force of habit. Sorry."

"You are who you are," Freddie said, standing beside me now and rolling his shoulders in a small shrug. "I'm not trying to change that."

"If you think I'm going to keep being such a bitch to you--"

"No swearing, Sam, my mom's here too."

I swallowed. "A jerk. I won't be a jerk to you anymore. I won't swear, I won't fight, I won't 'borrow' money and unload food from Carly's fridge."

"But--" Freddie seemed to be at a loss for words. "Just don't swear, okay?"

"So I can fight and take your money?" I grinned, though the attempt was halfhearted. Shame trickled down my throat, searing hot and hard to stomach.

Freddie disregarded my last sentence. Stalking past me, head bent in thought, he led me to the kitchen, flipping another switch to illuminate the gleaming counters and table with false light.

I dropped into a chair, unworthiness mixed with guilt clouding my already fogged mind. Freddie busied himself at the stove, pulling a pan and a few dishes out soundlessly from under the countertop. I would have dropped them all.

Soon, bacon and eggs were frying merrily on the stove, toast popping up from the toaster with a satisfying ching. As I began to feel useless and rose to pour the drinks, Freddie grabbed two glasses from the hutch and filled each to the top with orange juice, the last of the carton's contents falling into the cups with a faint splash. I returned gloomily to my seat.

"Breakfast is served," Freddie announced. Everything looked delicious, and my instincts overcame the guilt and shame for a moment; I grabbed my plate, serving generous portions of each dish on to the shining plastic.

"Wow," I said. "Just wow. You prepared all that in, what, ten minutes?"

Freddie laughed, an easy and content sound that put my mind at ease. "It's been longer than that, Sam. I think you've just learned some patience."

I shook my head. "Not possible. I'm the most impatient person in the world. You should know."

He smiled the half-smile I loved, the one that curved one side of his mouth to make him look pleased yet slightly disbelieving. "I do. Maybe you've changed."

This unsettled me, and I began to eat with vigor. Soon I could only think of tastes and smells, delicious and fragrant beyond anything I'd eaten in months. Freddie ate slowly, his plate practically empty compared to mine. Once again I felt inadequate, though for the stupidest reason on earth. So I ate more! So what? What was wrong with me today?

Once we had both eaten our fill, I cleared the dishes (leaping to complete the task before Freddie offered to himself) and scrubbed down the counter for good measure.

"My mom will be up soon," Freddie said, glancing at a clock perched precariously on top of the fridge. "We should get dressed."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Get dressed into what, exactly, Fredward?"

Freddie ran a hand through his hair. "How could I have forgotten? Okay… could you ask Carly for a pair of jeans or something? She's right across the way. No one would see you."

I was reluctant to admit that I had stayed over Freddie's house, yet Carly already knew. I gave a curt nod before making towards the front door.

"It's seven in the morning," Freddie said. "Is she up?"

"Carls is not exactly a morning person, no. But she'll get up."

Freddie frowned. "Why not wait an hour? It's still early, and we should let her sleep. It is Saturday, after all."

"Right," I mumbled. For the first time during my stay at the Benson's apartment, I felt uncomfortable and wished to leave. It wasn't Freddie's fault; far from it. I was selfish and rude, my traits standing out in blatant contrast with Freddie's, until I could barely stand being in my own skin.

The temperature took an icy dive, the atmosphere in the room growing bleak. Perhaps Freddie didn't feel it, for he went about his business normally, cleaning whatever I had missed earlier on the countertop. It had been such a confusing morning. I longed to escape the confines of the apartment, yet admitted grudgingly that if I left without a reason, bruising Freddie's ego, there was a chance I'd never come back.

"So we have an hour or so."

I nodded.

"What do you want to do?" Freddie asked, taking a few steps closer to my rigid form. I realized then that my shoulders were tensed, my expression almost stony, and immediately relaxed.

"I dunno," I said, seemingly indifferent. Freddie grabbed at his head, miming pulling out his hair.

"Samantha Puckett, why are you so difficult?" he groaned. "One minute you're all cute and sensitive, the next you're leaning against the wall like a statue, thoughtful and silent and looking oh so sad. Help me out here. What's wrong?"

The exclamation rang clearly in my ears, pestering my eardrums as Freddie's voice echoed across the apartment. Meeting his eyes, I couldn't explain my mood changes without sounding unpleasantly emo.

So I settled for yet another emotionless shrug.

Freddie pleaded with me silently, his eyes searching mine until I couldn't stand it anymore. Glancing about the room, looking for something, anything to focus on, I heard Freddie exhale softly, a defeated and unsatisfied sound that had my gut churning with something like pity mixed with guilt.

"Fine," he said. His tone was decidedly cold, as if to say, okay, be mysterious and misunderstood, but don't think I'll dote on your every word and beg for information of your feelings. It was my turn to groan.

"Freddie, it's just hard for me!" I cried in a desperate attempt to stop the conversation from falling into a dark, uncomfortable pit that I doubted it would escape. He pursed his lips.

"I'm not stupid. Try me."

I dropped into a kitchen chair. How could I explain the mediocrity that overtook my mind each time he spoke a kind word? Freddie would just tell me how special he thought me, and then my self esteem would sink lower.

"I'm worried about the school's reaction," I lied. "About our dating, you know. It'll be so…"

I trailed off; the excuse was poorly worded and barely plausible. I didn't feel this way at all, anyway; what was there to be afraid of?

"Sam," Freddie said, his voice sounding soft and understanding now. I loosed a mental scream, hating every reassurance he uttered. "The school already knows; they saw us at the dance, and word spreads fast."

Shoot. Logic; I hadn't been expecting that. "Well," I stuttered, grasping for anything that would save me from answering honestly, "they didn't make fun of us at the dance. Jonah and his friends; they'll have gotten over the shock of me calling his ugly face gargoyle-ish. Monday will be hell."

Freddie shook his head. "Don't worry about those jerks. They won't bother you."

"And you?"

Freddie grimaced. "They… might give me some grief. Nothing I can't take."

He stood there proudly, sounding tougher than I knew he was. I retreated down the hall, knocking Freddie's shoulder as I did.

"What was that for?"

"For sounding like the kind of jerk I usually beat up."

Freddie snorted with suppressed laughter, his footsteps thudding gently as he followed me back to his room. I grinned; the awkward atmosphere was broken, destroyed by the lie that would hold its own while I figured out a way to end the internal feud that had started within my head.

I splayed over Freddie's bed, my hair fanning out over the pillow, ignoring his spluttered protests. "You can take the cot for a while," I advised. "Don't worry; it's not as small as it looks."

Freddie attempted to mount the cot and managed to knock it to its side, the blankets and pillow tumbling across his room. My sides split with laughter as Freddie chased the various objects across the room, his cheeks burning.

I snatched the pillow from under Freddie's bed before he could reach it. "Hey, Benson," I called, crushing the pillow into a ball-like shape as he spun to face me. "You missed one."

I chucked the pillow at Freddie's head, the fabric unfurling as it whistled through the air. It hit Freddie with a mildly satisfying whump. When he emerged from the pillow's center, his blush had doubled so that even his nose glowed slightly pink.

Freddie struggled with the cot for a moment before I leapt from his bed to help. "Loser," I snickered. "You can't walk two steps in your own room without knocking something over."

I winced as the words left my lips; they weren't funny, just mean-spirited. To my surprise, Freddie grinned as though I had written him an aria.

"It hasn't been that long, but could you get the clothes from Carly?" Freddie asked, his grin remaining unexplained. "If we want to do anything fun today, we might as well get started early. I'm sure Carly won't mind."

"Sure," I replied. My feet shuffled uncertainly as I teetered on the edge of asking him why he had looked so pleased when I had noted his clumsiness. Freddie fell back on the cot. His hands rested behind his head, looking at me expectantly.

"…Are you gonna--"

"Yeah," I said quickly, jumping to the door and ripping it open. I sped through the apartment, ignoring the glinting medals and awards that beamed down from the walls, coating every last inch. Baby pictures and family photos were placed where guests would be forced to spot them, so I kept my eyes averted, staring at the floor while trying not to trip.

Freddie's mother's voice wafted down the hall, coated with sleep and high pitched with distraught and disorientation. I sped up, practically kicking the front door from its hinges. Facing Carly was much better than even exchanging a "Good morning" with Mrs. Benson.

My breath was the only sound breaking the serene quiet of the building's halls, the sound as loud as a cement mixer in my ears when usually it would just be a whisper in the backround. The cold enveloped my exposed arms, legs, and throat; the palms of my hands stayed warm, so I pressed them to my arms and neck, a fading print of heat surviving momentarily on the shivering skin.

Carly's apartment seemed daunting, if not ominous. I hesitated to knock; though Carly and I had made up during the dance from our little falling out over Freddie, I knew that the conversations would be shadowed by the knowledge of our fight, the details clouding our judgment.

A rush of shockingly icy air filling my lungs, I pounded on the Shay's apartment door, the wood leaving my knuckles stinging. No sound emitted from behind the walls; I knocked again, louder this time. The extra force caused a small gasp a pain to escape my lips as my hand screamed in protest.

Finally, a steady thud, thud, thud of footsteps sounded from inside. The knob twisted and the door was flung open, revealing an unshaven and thoroughly drowsy Spencer. His eyes, for the most part, were closed, the lids barely revealing a sliver of white that allowed him to see. His hair stuck up in most places; bits of paint and other materials clung to his head. He was dressed not in pajamas, but jeans and a T-shirt that were both thoroughly doused with orange paint.

"Working all night?" I asked. He nodded, absently brushing a few Styrofoam particles from his hair.

"Guy wants… elephant sculpture…" Spencer slurred. "Gotta be orange… why'd someone want an orange elephant?"

"I don't know, Spencer," I said, stepping over the threshold. I had spoken too often with Spencer to find his speech odd. "Maybe the guy likes orange elephants."

"Elephants are gray!" Spencer whined, and promptly fell asleep on the couch, almost missing as he fell backwards and began snoring.

Indeed, an orange elephant sculpture stood on the coffee table, looking dolefully up at me with detailed eyes. The piece was artfully done, but the color made it absurd.

"Spencer?" Carly yawned from the stairs. "Did you finish the elephant? Mr. McConally will be here at two."

She stumbled the rest of the way down, her hair worse than her brother's. When she spotted me, she forced herself awake and greeted me as though I were her houseguest. It was not abnormal for me to show up, uninvited, at her house in the morning, claiming to have picked the lock and stayed over.

"Hey," she murmured. "Did you spend the night?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Stayed at Freddie's."

Carly's eyes flew open, the full impact of my words hitting her. "So… you two are… Sam!"

She jumped at me, and for a moment I thought she would strike me, declaring Freddie hers and banishing me from the house. But she wrapped me in a painful hug, squealing as a pig would.

"Oh my god!" she cried. "That is so… oh my god!"

"Yeah, yeah," I said uncomfortably. "We're… together. So are you and Jake. It's big."

I said this without excitement, though the news was incredible. Carly released me, combing her hair back furiously with a hand. Strands of deep brown avoided her fingers, framing her face with tendrils of disobeying hair.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So now do you get how awesome he is?" Carly laughed. I couldn't help staring at her in shock; had she already forgotten our fight? I hurried to do the same, fixing an uneasy smile on my lips.

"Yeah, he's pretty great," I admitted. "And he can cook!"

"So you won't be raiding my fridge anymore?"

"Hmm. That depends. Do you have any Guilini pie?"

Carly shifted from one foot to another. "Maybe…"

I rushed at the fridge, laughing hysterically. Carly's arms wrenched mine away from the fridge door; I managed to get it open with my teeth.

"It's--for--later!" Carly gasped, tugging at my hair. I yelped and scratched at her hands, which were pulling my tresses decidedly away from the pie.

"Ow, the hair!" I complained. "Carly…pie!"

Carly shook her head. "It's, like, 7:00 AM. No pie."

I remembered the reason for my visit. "Can I borrow some clothes?"

The question was absurdly random, but Carly took it in stride. "Sure. Jeans, a shirt, socks?"

I nodded. She raced upstairs to get me the clothes. In ten minutes, I was dressed, brushed, and chatting up a storm with my best friend. It all felt so right, so natural, that I lost track of time.

"Hey, can you stay for lunch?" Carly asked. She hadn't bothered to properly comb her hair yet. Every few seconds, she would blow a piece of it out of her face with an annoyed groan.

"Lunch?" I yelped. "What time is it?"

I didn't wait for an answer. Leaping from Carly's bed, I raced downstairs, Carly in my wake. "Get dressed," I advised her over my shoulder. "Maybe we can do something later. I left Freddie alone with his mom, and she didn't look happy."

"Does she ever look happy?"

I frowned. "Not when I'm around."

This caused us both to halt for maybe a millisecond. "She's always like that," Carly said. "It's not you."

"See ya later," I mumbled. Soon I was back in Freddie's apartment, awaiting his nonexistent wrath for staying away from him longer than necessary.

**Reviewwwwwwwwwwwwww please! 3 **


	3. Chapter 3

**This is a very short chapter, and I know it'll have some formatting issues. Bear with me, I'll fix any problems later today. I just wanted to get this up. Other chapters, longer chapters, will be coming soon. Love you all! 3**

I didn't dare call Freddie's name, for fear of meeting his mother first in the maze of small, darkly lit passageways that was the apartment I was now stumbling through. Past a doorway I spotted the kitchen; the lights were dimmed now, or perhaps my eyes were accustomed to brighter lighting from being in Carly's almost florescent rooms.

Five minutes passed in tense silence. Had it really only been five minutes? The seconds ticked by, each one taking an eternity. A minute was an hour, and an hour an excruciating period of time that I would surely go mad from if forced to wander these halls that long.

It crossed my mind that Freddie was hiding from me. An absurd image formed in my head; Freddie, crouched in his room and shrouded in darkness, holding a flashlight to his face while giggling uncontrollably, in on a prank that only he could understand. I laughed this off. My paranoid thoughts were playing tricks.

The room adjusted around me; soon, indistinct objects became perfectly visible, though still unnervingly covered in shadow. I began retracing my steps from earlier that morning. Freddie's room had to be around here somewhere…

And eventually my fingers closed over the frame of a doorway. I traced the intricate curves of the painted wood, finding my way clumsily into the dark room. He wasn't there.

Of course he wasn't there, I chided myself. It was pitch black and ice cold; a human hadn't been in the room for hours, that much was certain.

I stuck a foot blindly into the room. For all I knew, the air had turned to gelatin; I always felt this way when entering an unfamiliar and shadow-laden place, like an alleyway. It's almost as if I expected an elephant to collide with me.

My toes brushed the cot, which had been unceremoniously tipped over. Its contents had once again spilled onto the floor, and after we had taken over a minute cleaning! I smirked to myself, and took a rather confident step into Freddie's bedroom.

I miscalculated terribly. Out of seemingly nowhere, a large, metal frame caught my legs and I tumbled to the ground. The cot was larger than I had thought. I expected to land on the carpet; it would hurt, sure, but I would spring up, fix the cot, and no one would be the wiser. Since I didn't expect any obstacles, I didn't bother to cover my face or even turn my head.

With a _whump_ my skull collided with the bedpost. Stars popped before my eyes, and I finally landed on the floor, tasting a mouthful of carpet.

For a moment I did nothing. The throbbing pain was slightly numbing; I watched the stars dance behind my eyelids, my mouth still open and carpet pressing against my tongue. I wondered vaguely if I had hurt anything vital. The importance of the part of my head I had hurt was not, ironically, all that important to me at the moment; all I knew was that a searing sensation had started somewhere on my skull, and that Freddie's carpet tasted terrible.

Voices floated around me; I tried to stand, afraid of succumbing to what felt like a concussion (as if I knew what a concussion felt like). Hearing voices was never good, right?

Two voices were twisting together in a broken melody, rising and falling in volume. I recognized one as female and one as male, though their words were lost on me. My legs weren't obeying the signals my rattled brain was sending to them.

"…my friend, she has been for years!"

My eyes snapped open as the meaning of the words I was hearing finally registered. Though I didn't understand fully, at least I could make out each syllable fairly clearly.

"She's hardly a friend of yours, I don't know why…"

The woman's voice became softer; the rest of her sentence became garbled gibberish to me. My tongue was dry, taste buds moaning in agony. I pulled myself from the carpet; it took quite a few swallows to purge the odd taste of the floor from my mouth.

"Well, maybe not before, but she is now!"

This was making no sense. The male was talking now, defending whoever his companion was insulting. Finally, something inside me clicked; I was in Freddie's apartment, which meant the only two people who could be arguing were…

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Fredward Benson!" Mrs. Benson's sharp voice was dulled slightly by the wood it had to penetrate to reach my ears. She and her son were talking in her bedroom, the door tight shut.

"For once, forget about what's best for me and think about what makes me happy!" Freddie's exasperated tone was unmistakable; I had heard it many times before.

"They're the same thing! At least, they should be."

"Wearing anti-tick lotion doesn't exactly make me happy, mom."

I sat upright. The throbbing in my skull began again, though I ignored it. My ankles wobbled as I stood, rubbing my sore head absently. Had the two Bensons been arguing the whole time I'd been gone?

Shoot. I had missed some of their conversation. The voices became indistinct again; I stumbled across Freddie's dark bedroom, slapping his wall numerous times before I found the light switch.

"You were perfectly fine last night," Freddie snapped. I fell silent, freezing against the door with my hand clamped on the doorknob. My left ear pressed against the wood, straining for clearer speech.

"Well, a Benson is always hospitable to all house guests," Mrs. Benson quipped. Ugh, she sounded like some sort of deformed rule book.

Freddie didn't seem to have an answer to that. The house was silent again. I wondered how I had missed their voices when I had first arrived back.

"You won't be associating with her anymore," Mrs. Benson said firmly, breaking the silence that had fallen. "I won't have it. She's made your life miserable for years."

My stomach plummeted. Me? They were talking about me? I should have known it earlier; what with the 'houseguest' remark.

"She's changed! And I'm helping!" he protested. I opened the door a crack; the extra sound I achieved made it that much easier to listen to something I really didn't want to hear, yet needed to.

"Freddie…"

"What?"

He was defensive, aggressive, and disobedient. I had never seen (heard, technically) Freddie like this before.

"I don't think you can help her," Mrs. Benson said carefully. I gripped the doorknob until the metal squeaked.

"What do you mean?" he asked. I was wondering the same thing.

"She's… a very complicated girl," Mrs. Benson said. "Her background is not one I'm very fond of, and her grades…"

"You're saying she's a lost cause?"

Whoa. I hadn't seen that one coming.

"Not especially, dear," Mrs. Benson sounded eternally uncomfortable. "I do think she needs help, just more than you can give her."

Ex_cuse_ me? That was too much. My shoulders tensed, and I flung the door open with a bang, loud enough to effectively end their little chat.

"Is she there?" Mrs. Benson whispered, as though hiding from a poltergeist. I marched up to what I hoped was the right door, and rapped the wood as loudly as I could.

"Yeah?" Freddie called.

"Hey!" I called cheerfully. "There you are. I've been looking for you forever. Your apartment is like Atlantis!"

Atlantis? That was the best reference I had? Pathetic.

The door was soon opened to reveal a dressed and clean Freddie, hair damp from what I presumed was a rushed shower, all traces of sleep gone from his eyes. He lingered there a moment longer before calling to his mother, "We're going to the Groovy Smoothie."

Not a request. Not even a demand. A statement. I was so proud of him.

We left wordlessly, not stopping until we were clear of the apartment complex.

A rush of emotion began at my heart, intense as waves crashing upon the sea. I wanted-- no, I _needed_-- an explanation for Mrs. Benson's actions. I would play the innocent act, saying I heard yelling and asking politely what they were talking about.

But, like a wave, the urge to ask faded as the words neared my throat, the sea calming and allowing the wave to disintigrate to a fourth of its being, finally collapsing upon the shore with no more force than a breeze ruffling a flower. Freddie already looked so terribly guilty; I couldn't force him to speak. Let him tell me on his own.

"Where do you want to go?" Freddie said at last. "I just said Groovy Smoothie to give my mom a place; she freaks if she doesn't know where I am."

His voice became clipped as he spoke the word 'mom'. I didn't press the matter, but responded equally as casually to his question.

"It doesn't really matter," I said. The day was young and beautiful; I told Freddie as such.

"True," he said with a smile. We have all day, and tomorrow, if you want."

I was suddenly brimming with warmth and happiness; we had the entire weekend, just the two of us, to do whatever we pleased. Screw what Mrs. Benson thought; all that mattered was us, and our joyful little world that would exist only when the two of us had a solitary moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Again, this isn't a very long chapter (seven pages) but I'm proud of it. Writing this story is incredibly fun, because I've grown to love Freddie and Sam more and more. **

I was suddenly brimming with warmth and happiness; we had the entire weekend, just the two of us, to do whatever we pleased. Screw what Mrs. Benson thought; all that mattered was us, and our joyful little world that would exist only when the two of us had a solitary moment.

The sky was suddenly bluer, the grass greener, like stalks of rippling emeralds in the crisp breeze. Everything was clear and sharp and breathtakingly beautiful, from the sparrow perched on a thriving tree to the millions of rounded pebbles crunching under my feet. Was this what it felt like to be truly happy?

"You're in a good mood," Freddie commented. He still seemed a bit disgruntled from the conversation with his uptight mother; I quietly set a goal to make him see the wonder of the day we had to spend together.

"Look at this," I said, waving my arm at the world at large. "Everything… it's incredible!"

Freddie bit back a laugh. "What's up with you? Did Carly give you soda? I told her what sugar does to you in the morning."

"Shut up," I advised. "Don't you see how awesome this day is?"

So I wasn't describing everything perfectly. So what? I was distracted by my good fortune.

"What the heck are you talking about?" Freddie asked. He seemed intrigued now; I was determined to lift his spirits.

I dragged him around Seattle until we found a bench. I plopped him down next to me, warning him, "If you interrupt, I'll buy fifty lemonade snow cones and shove them down your shirt. You know I will."

Freddie opened his mouth to challenge me. I gave him my most threatening look, growling, "You haven't turned me into a 'nice girl' yet, Fredward. I'm still Sam."

He nodded, smiling at my odd actions. "Go on."

I began to describe each of the different aspects of the day, from the sky to the city animals to the possibilities that lay before us. He listened intently. Freddie's eyes filled with some of the childish wonder I felt, which meant I was doing my job correctly.

"And the best part," I said at last, feeling a bit uncomfortable as Freddie's eyes pierced mine, "is that we can just relax the entire day, doing whatever we want and not worrying about anyone or anything. No one else matters."

I fell silent, failing to mention that the most important part of this Saturday was that I had Freddie, which felt like a fairytale in itself. Freddie was already gazing at me like I was some sort of genius; if I told him being with him was like a dream come true, he might start sobbing, and then I'd have to shove snow cones down his back.

"That," he said at last, "was incredible. You're such a writer!"

I bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you take pleasure in causing others to see the world the way you do," he said. "It also means you see the world in a very unique way… you're--"

"Okay, okay," I interrupted. "Enough with the sappy stuff."

"Corny and cheesy stuff, you mean."

I glared at him for maybe a second before lapsing into stifled giggles. "Why are you so annoying?" I groaned. "I can't even hit you, because then you'd dump me."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Then you're an idiot!"

He nodded vigorously. I couldn't help myself; I socked him as lightly as I could in the arm, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I did so. Freddie yelped, laughter bubbling from his lips. The sound colored the air, drowning the wind and cutting through the slight chatter of neighborhood squirrels.

"That's it," he grinned. "We're done. Nice knowing you."

Though it was obvious he was joking, my stomach still turned to ice, head bending as though weight were crushing my neck, blonde strands covering downcast eyes.

"Hey," Freddie said, grabbing my shoulder. "I'm- I'm kidding."

"I know," I muttered. How could I explain how it terrified me to hear him even joke about breaking it off?

The blissful mood was definitely evaporating fast. "Let's go," I insisted. He rose with a tentative air, as though waiting for me to either burst into tears or hit him again. I was tempted to do the latter, just to release some frustration.

"Okay, where are we going?" he asked lightly. I fought the urge to fall into the 'misunderstood, depressed girl' demeanor, where I'd just shrug and mumble indifferences until he became so fed up I'd miss out on a great day.

"Mall?" I suggested. Freddie pulled a face. "Okay, no mall. You think of something."

"Well, we could go if you really wanted to," Freddie said grudgingly. I gaped.

"Are you serious?" I squealed, then rethought. "No. No way. I'm not going to waste our day blowing my money on crap I don't need and probably won't use. Let's go somewhere fun for both of us."

"That's sweet," he mumbled. "But… I kinda…"

"You _want_ to go to the mall!" I laughed. "Oh, this is too good!"

He glared me down. "I just don't want to look like a dork anymore."

My eyes widened with hope. "You want me to dress you?"

He blushed a deep crimson, cheeks stained with color just below the cheekbones. A smile curved my lips, both at his embarrassment and at my good fortune.

"Can I make you goth?"

Freddie jumped about a foot. "No! Are you kidding me? My mom would--"

I raised an eyebrow. He gave an exasperated sigh.

"That's not the only reason I don't want to be goth. It just wouldn't fit me!" he protested, the color fading from his cheeks as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not that type, Sam."

"You don't have to hate the world or anything," I begged. We were walking; when had we started walking? Luckily, Freddie was moving in the direction of my favorite mall, just five blocks from Carly's apartment.

"I know," he muttered. "But goths are so…"

"Freddie!" I whined, stretching his name over five syllables. "Goths rule. Can I at least make you emo? Or, like, a rocker?"

He snorted, and I gave it up as a bad job.

"Fine. What do you want to be?" I grumbled. He shrugged.

"I don't know, I really don't. Just not this," he said, picking at the flimsy checkered jacket hanging sadly over a plain white t-shirt.

I frowned, eying Freddie up and down. Oh, it would be so easy to transform that little nerd ensemble into something Jake would drool over… maybe just a few skulls, Freddie wouldn't mind…

"You're gothing me up with your eyes!" he yelped, swatting at the air in front of him. I cracked up, shoving him roughly off the sidewalk into the millions of flickering grass blades, reflecting the lazy sun. He stumbled for a moment before trying to return the favor, but I was far too quick for him.

The mall came into view. "We're racing!" I declared. Freddie smiled absently, knowing better than to argue.

"Rules?" he questioned. I pondered for a moment, eyes sliding across the landscape. A somewhat evil grin grew on my lips.

"We'll each make our own rules," I said slyly, hoping Freddie hadn't caught on. "What do you get if you win?"

"You have to buy me lunch," Freddie said matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes. He could have made me spend a day with his dorky friends or actually pay attention in class, yet he picked a free lunch.

"Okay," I said. "And if I win, you have to let me dress you for a whole hour. If you complain, I add ten minutes."

His mouth fell open, eyes widening in pure horror. "Sam, no!"

I stuck out my tongue. "We race to the mall entrance," I said forcefully, quenching his spluttered protests. "On your mark, get set, go!"

My feet were flying before Freddie had time to shout, "You evil little…!" The pavement pounded against my soles, creating an uneven yet addicting rhythm. My breath came in short bursts; that one year of track had really helped.

Freddie was gaining on me, shouting obscenities amidst an outburst of disbelieving laughter. We must have looked ridiculous, but it didn't matter.

The mall was suddenly in front of me, looming a whopping five stories with nothing but incredible stores. I touched the smooth glass doors lightly with a single fingertip, chuckling softly. Freddie was in for a treat.

Approximately ten seconds later Freddie arrived, panting slightly and looking thoroughly disheveled. I don't think the running had any effect on him; the boy was just scared of his immediate future, as he should have been.

"Sam," he began, voice taking on a pleading tone. I knew I would melt if I let him continue, so I did the only thing that would shut him up.

Leaning in, I gave him a quick peck on the lips before saying sternly, "Shut up and take it like a man. Or at least a nerd. Take it like a nerd. A nerd is half a man."

Freddie gave a strained bark of laughter. We headed into the mall, and were greeted by tinkling, repetitive elevator music, loud neon signs promising their products were the best of the best, and a throng of eager customers, just waiting to line the pockets of some other fool.

We were home.

"Hot Topic," I said automatically. "We're going to Hot Topic."

"Sam!" Freddie groaned. I rolled my eyes.

"We only have an hour, Sherlock. I'm not wasting any time."

He didn't complain as I dragged him by the arm into Hot Topic, grinning at the array of red-and-black shirts that would go so nicely with his hair. I rifled through the different clothes, eyes raking up and down Freddie's form as he squirmed uncomfortably. He did look quite out of place next to the girl with the multiple nose rings who was purchasing some Twilight crap (a ring, a bracelet, some sixty dollar perfume).

There was a pair of ripped black jeans on the rack next to me; I demanded Freddie tried them on, along with a long-sleeved top displaying a skull. He glared at me in horror.

"There's no way--"

"Fredward. Now."

I sounded just like his mom! Luckily it worked, and Freddie was scuttling off to the changing rooms in no time. Five minutes later he emerged, looking thoroughly emo.

Because there was nothing else to do, I doubled over in laughter. Okay, so the whole 'goth' thing didn't work for him. Freddie looked absolutely ridiculous.

The ripped jeans were at least two sizes too small, causing him to shift from side to side and make the material creak in protest. I cringed as he turned in a slow circle, eyebrows raised and daring me to lie and say he looked good. The shirt fell so awkwardly on his frame, I almost missed his nerdy ensemble.

"Get changed," I sighed. "We'll go somewhere else."

He gave a sigh of relief and headed back to the changing rooms, shrugging off the shirt before the black curtain had completely closed.

We hurried from the store, avoiding the smirking employee's gaze. My ears rang as soon as we were free of the gothic environment; had the music really been that loud? I hadn't even noticed. It had felt natural.

"That was terrible!" Freddie whined. "Don't make me do this, Sam."

"Oh, please. You tried on one outfit. Suck it up."

"Sam--"

"One more word and I'm adding ten minutes," I warned. He clamped his jaw shut, a childish scowl on his face.

We scoured three more stores after Hot Topic. Freddie muttered his protests softer each time. Soon his arms were laden with two pairs of jeans, one slightly darker than the other and ripped at the knees, a gray sweatshirt, three spring-colored tees, two deeper colored tees, and a wristband with a skull on it, because I just couldn't help myself.

He tried each on in earnest, admiring how it brought out his non-dorky side, however small the side may have been. I leaned against a wall and smirked at his satisfied expression, finally snorting an, "Oh, please!" as he turned in front of a mirror.

"Why don't I just sign you up for 'America's Next Top Model'?" I asked, pulling his new black jacket off of his shoulders and wrapping it over my left arm.

"Do you think I could win?" Freddie asked looking infinitely hopeful. I couldn't tell if he was kidding, and believe me, when your boyfriend considers trying out for the girliest model show out there, you get scared.

My response to his absurd question was an abrupt kick to his shins before turning to pay for his clothes (with his money, of course. These clothes were for him).

"I think we have enough," I said. He turned to me.

"What?"

"We're good. We have enough clothes to completely rejuvenate your look. Let me just pick and choose which goes with which, and we'll get you looking like a normal teenager in no time."

"But…"

Freddie's face had fallen, eyes memorizing the pattern etched into every tile lining the floor. His hands clasped themselves behind his back.

"We'll do this again," I promised, trying hard not to laugh at his newfound hobby. At least this got his chin up.

We headed towards the bathrooms, discussing at full length which jeans would go best with his gray t-shirt. I had to say, for a boy who had been deprived the fine art of shopping his whole life, Freddie had excellent taste.

**If there is any problem with this chapter, I'll fix it ASAP, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not give me a review saying, "Umm, the whole chapter's underlined. Just thought you'd like to know." I get it, guys. 3**


	5. Chapter 5

Waiting outside the boys' bathroom was probably the most awkward experience of my life. That, and going to Japan with Mrs. Benson.

I looked pretty creepy; like a stalker, or maybe just a girl with some 'issues'. Either way, people went to great lengths to avoid me, including turning around and whispering to their friends, "I think there's a bathroom on the third floor."

"Almost done?" I called through the door. How long did it take to throw on a tee shirt and a pair of jeans?

"Uh…" was the only response I got. He had said that three times now.

"Yes or no, Freddie? It's a pretty simple question."

"Yes."

"What's the holdup?"

"I don't know it I look good."

I think I might have actually growled in frustration, which made the group of twelve-year-olds staring at me jump in fright.

"Get out here or I'm coming in to get you." After the words left my mouth I realized how terrible they sounded; the twelve-year-olds' eyes bulged, and they quickly departed, chatting in low voices that were, I assumed, supposed to sound secretive.

The door opened with a sad creak, informing me that the staff working at this mall didn't care about the boys' bathroom on the second floor, and Freddie sidled out. I tried not to scream, sparing the nerves of the adults nonchalantly watching me.

Freddie had chosen the ripped pair of jeans, darker than the other pair we had bought and my personal favorite. The gray tee shirt rimmed with black around the collar and sleeves looked incredibly normal on him. To my surprise Freddie had also decided to wear the skull-encrusted wristband.

"Do I look okay?" he asked with a tentative air. In another time I would have dragged out the moment, surveying Freddie with intensity that would make him squirm until I finally admitted he looked 'presentable'. Now, I just couldn't hold it in.

"Better than okay," I stuttered, internally wincing. Of all the responses that had flitted through my mind, however momentarily, I had stuck with the lamest choice of words that in no way portrayed my joy at his new wardrobe. Freddie looked happy enough at my comment.

"Let's get lunch," he said, sounding a bit too casual. I squinted at him.

"You jerk! It hasn't been an hour yet!" I announced after a moment's pondering. He cringed.

"Thought you wouldn't notice," he muttered. I grinned.

"Oh, no. Just because you're wearing cute clothes doesn't mean you can get your way," I promised.

"You think they're cute?" Freddie asked. He pulled at the tee shirt lightly, looking smugly satisfied.

"Oh c'mon, I picked those out!" I whined. "You can_not_ be feeling proud of yourself just for looking hot."

Had I really said that? I had. Damn.

"I look hot?"

"No. Let's go."

"You said I looked hot."

"Shut up. We'll stop by Aeropostale; it's kind of a girly store, but they have some cool guy clothes."

"Have you always thought I was hot? Or just now, because I'm wearing better clothes? Are you that shallow, Sam?" he persisted with a very fake anxious expression.

We were walking swiftly down the maze of hallways, Freddie still pursuing our conversation. I glanced feverishly at different store windows, trying to point out outfits, yet the topic remained the same.

"What do you really think is hot?" Freddie teased, thoroughly enjoying himself. "The jeans, or the shirt? Or maybe it's just me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Benson," I spat through gritted teeth. He was really pushing it.

"It's my eyes, isn't it? I always heard girls like brown eyes."

Yes, it was partly his eyes, though I'd never admit it. Not now, when he was being so immature.

"Let's go in here," I said as calmly as I could, picking a store at random without laying eyes on the merchandise. Freddie smirked.

"I've got enough underwear, thanks, Sam."

What was he talking about? Oh, my god. I'd led us both into a 'Victoria's Secret'.

"Okay," I said, flushing a deep crimson and averting my gaze from the frilly red strips of lace covering the mannequins. "Uh, let's get lunch. Forget about your makeover, you have enough for now."

"You still haven't answered me," Freddie said, words trembling from suppressed giggles. My embarrassment just flustered me further, which was exactly what he wanted.

"Don't expect an answer," I snarled. "Let's get lunch, Fredward."

"You're just jealous because I have such great hair," he sighed, tossing his head as though he had a mane. "Is it my hair you think is hot?"

"You're not hot."

"You lie! You said I was before."

"Why are you so annoying?"

"I bet Doctor Frankenstein asked his monster the same question," Freddie grinned. I glared.

"I didn't create you, I brought out your sexier side." _Ah crap, I'd just admitted he was sexy!_

His eyebrow rose in triumph. "So you're saying--"

"Yes, I think you're hot! Sexy, even! Are you satisfied?" I cried exasperatedly. Freddie paused, looking puzzled at my defeat. We had frozen in the pathway; consumers angrily skirted around us, muttering complaints.

My small outburst had shaken Freddie out of his toddler-like state, and I rejoiced. "Let's get lunch," I repeated. He gave a curt nod.

We traveled to the food court ghostlike, barely moving our legs and never breathing a word. Freddie looked in shock; I ignored him, berating myself for causing a slight scene.

"What do you want?" I asked. Freddie smiled sheepishly, asking forgiveness with his eyes. I didn't grant it.

"Uh, Chinese," he said after a moment. I nodded.

"Grab a table. I'll get the food. Stir-fried rice and scallion pancakes sound okay?"

He gave his assent and I sped off to get our food. In ten minutes' time I was juggling two trays laden with food, scanning the packed court for Freddie. He waved, catching my eye; our table was next to the artificial water fountain, so that a light spray of water (barely a spray- more of a mist) would fan over us while we ate. Romantic.

I slid the trays onto opposite ends of the table, enjoying the coolness of the mist for a moment before sitting. Freddie toyed with his fork.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. I had just ripped a chunk of scallion pancake off with my teeth, and looked up, mouth full, in surprise.

"It's fine," I said hastily after swallowing. I hadn't expected him to apologize so quickly, if at all. Freddie broke into a relieved smile that melted my stiff anger immediately.

"You were just teasing," I said. "Sorry I yelled."

"Well, you yelled my hotness for the world to hear, so you're forgiven," he mumbled through a mouthful of rice. I snorted.

"If anyone got that on camera, I'm dead."

"Who would bring a camera to a mall?" Freddie questioned.

I shrugged. "Some girls record everything on their phones. I'm just saying."

He nodded slowly. This was nice; just talking, no one else around.

We ate in silence for a minute more, before Freddie spoke.

"I dare you to flick something in the fountain."

I stared at him, looking for traces of sarcasm. No, he was serious, the challenge was in his smile. I returned the grin, readjusting my position on the chair to get a better angle on the fountain.

"I have a hair elastic, a couple quarters, and, of course, my meal," I informed him after perusing my pockets. "What do you want?"

"Hair elastic."

"Nice choice."

I casually wrapped the elastic around two fingers, preparing it in a slingshot position. With a final glance at Freddie, I let the accessory fly, skipping twice across the water like a stone before stopping with a splash.

"Rather unimpressive," I commented. "I dare you to huck a quarter."

With that, I handed him a coin, which he accepted readily.

"Make it splash," I commanded.

Without wasting time Freddie sent the quarter to a watery grave. For such a small coin it made a significant splash, spraying us both lightly.

We lapsed into silent laughter as a security guard bent over the fountain, fishing my hair elastic and the quarter from the fountain. The quarter had sunken to the depths of the fountain, so the guard's arm was dunked in icy water. He slid the quarter into a pocket, grinning, while tossing my elastic over his shoulder. It landed on Freddie's plate.

He pretended to twirl it on his fork, saying loudly, "Oh my god, Sam, there's a hair elastic in my food! I didn't order a hair elastic!"

"I did," I said, picking it off his fork and actually popping it into my mouth for a minute before spitting it out, gagging.

"Hair is gross," I decided. Freddie snorted at the absurdity of my statement.

His foot knocked mine under the table; I blushed and retreated both legs behind my chair, but Freddie chased me, feet pulling mine back towards his end. Our ankles crossed.

Smiling at the fluttery feeling in my stomach, I noticed my phone buzzing merrily in my pocket. "One sec," I said, pulling the device from my pocket and flipping it open.

**Jake: Hey sup?**

I blinked. It was an IM. I could get them on my phone, and listed people by names, not by usernames. Jake's username was 'bball456'. Real original.

My thumb darted around the buttons, sending a deft message before closing the phone and slipping it away.

**Sam: nm, hanging w/ Freddie**

"Who's that?" Freddie asked, his feet still playing with mine. It was such an intimate and sweet gesture, I decided not to ruin it.

"Carly," I lied. Our conversation continued blissfully, until my stupid phone buzzed again.

Freddie barely noticed me pulling the phone out for a second time; I listened intently, eyes sliding down to survey the message on my screen.

**Jake: R u still going out w/ him?**

Brow furrowing, I typed a response.

**Sam: Yeah why?**

It was mere seconds before I got an answer. Freddie noticed this time.

"Sorry," I apologized. "She won't leave me alone."

**Jake: Oh… that's too bad**

My fingers flew.

**Sam: Aren't you going out w/ Carly?**

**Jake: I guess**

**Sam: Ok then… I'm leaving**

**Jake: Wait**

This was getting ridiculous. I apologized to Freddie once again, waiting impatiently for Jake's response.

**Jake: I feel bad about how we ended**

My throat clenched.

**Sam: What r u saying?**

**Jake: Do u want 2 hang out today?**

**Sam: NO**

**Jake: y? **

**Sam: Just no. Go hang out w/ Carly.**

**Jake: Don't want 2. I like u.**

**Sam: ur confusing me.**

**Jake: Want 2 go out again? We had fun.**

**Sam: bye Jake.**

**Jake: y do u like that nerd anyway?**

**Sam: Why don't u like ur own girlfriend?**

**Jake: Oh plz, I'm gonna dump her anyway**

**Sam: then ur a jerk.**

**Jake: c u Monday 3**

I closed the phone with a snap that seemed to ring in my ears. I was seething.

"What did Carly want?" Freddie asked, finishing the last of his rice and sneaking some of mine.

"It wasn't Carly. It was Jake."

"Okay… what did Jake want?" Freddie continued uncomfortably. I figured I might as well tell him.

"He asked me out, though he's still going with Carly, and knowing perfectly well I'm going with you. It's like a reverse Jonah."

Freddie fell silent. His eyes were blank. "Let me see your phone."

His voice scared me. I handed him my phone, realizing too late that he was going to go through my 'received messages'. I grabbed for the machine, but he pulled away from me. Freddie's feet untangled from mine; I missed the contact.

Freddie thumbed through my messages, his eyes becoming darker and darker. "Wow," he muttered. "What a jerk."

"Yeah," I said uncertainly. "Uh… it's kind of weird, about Jake, I thought he was okay, but… it's no big deal. I'll tell Carly about this and it'll all blow over."

"I'm going to beat him up," Freddie said quietly. I couldn't do much other than stare.

"Your new look doesn't give you super powers, Freddie," I said weakly. "Jake's strong, and he's got a lot of strong friends."

"I'm going to beat him up," Freddie repeated in the same quiet, casual tone. "I'll do it Monday."

"Oh, haha, Freddie."

"I'm dead serious. He's messing with you _and_ Carly. I'm going to--"

"Don't do this!" I said angrily. "He'll destroy you. And I like you un-destroyed."

Freddie surveyed me with mild interest. "Jake's going to pay."

"Hello! Anyone home?" I hissed. "_Jake will kick your ass_."

He stood, picking up his tray and mine. "I'll throw these away. Be right back."

And he walked away, ignoring my stuttered remarks about his annihilation come Monday. I watched him go, noticing his rigid spine and bowed head, as though fighting off the urge to cry- or punch something.

There goes my perfect day with Freddie, I thought sadly. Way to go, Jake.

**Comments? *puppy face* Seriously, guys, there were, like, five comments last time. That tells me no one is reading the story, and that I should stop writing forever and go cry in a corner (overdramatic much?) I've made anonymous comments possible too, so I expect some feedback. ****J**


	6. Chapter 6

**Enjoy! And, as always, comment. I can't tell you how much feedback means to me, so even if you're not logged in, I'd really love it if you left me a note saying how you like the chapter, what I did wrong, what you'd like to see in the future, etc. **

We left the mall after half an hour of polite browsing. I barely spoke, fuming, while Freddie remained calm as ever. The day was still as gorgeous as before, but I couldn't notice the small perfections. Who cared how delicate a flower petal was while Freddie had less than a week to live?

Of course, Jake might not kill him; just peel off his face or something. No, I wasn't being overdramatic. I'd seen Jake in a fight before, and it was a bloodbath.

"Where do you want to go?" Freddie asked at last. I shrugged.

"Wherever."

"What do you want to do?"

"Whatever."

He cocked an eyebrow. "So we're going to wherever, to do whatever."

"Yes."

He threw up his arms, exasperated. "Be reasonable, Sam."

I stalked off, picking a path at random and following it with vigor. There was a clearing in a patch of trees up ahead; I headed towards the spot, plopping down on the grass. My knees knocked against my chin as I assumed an upright fetal position.

Grass rustled as Freddie sat next to me. "This is pretty," he noted. "What is this, a park?"

He got no response.

"Okay," Freddie said. "So, are you ignoring me?"

Still no response, except for a slight stiffening of my neck.

"Don't be pissed."

"Don't fight him," I growled. "It might have been one of his idiotic friends. You don't know."

Freddie fell silent, allowing me to sink back into depression/fury. I watched a squirrel cling desperately to a tree, glancing at the ground with quick, jerky movements. It wasn't that far down; a few feet at most. But the creature was small, and its neck would snap if it landed at an awkward enough position.

"Are you angry?" he asked after a while. I gave him a withering look that faded after mere seconds, transforming into something more revealing; fear, perhaps, or anxiety. I couldn't tell.

"I don't want you to die," I said. He laughed. "No," I continued. "If you fight Jake, you'll die, or won't want to live."

"I don't think--"

"_Don't fight Jake_. He doesn't fight fair, and his friends will obviously join in."

Freddie pursed his lips. "I'm not completely helpless, Sam."

"Yes, you are," I argued. "You're like an ant, and he's a giant boot."

"That was really poetic," Freddie said sarcastically. "You should write that down."

I turned away from him. The grass glimmered with beads of residual water; had it rained last night?

"I'm sorry," he sighed, grabbing my shoulder. "I'm just-- it ticks me off, to know that you dated that guy, and now he's with Carly. What did you see in him?"

I looked at him, surprised. "Don't you know? I saw the opposite of you."

His face fell, eyes tracing the miniature hills of soil below. "Oh."

"No, not like that," I groaned. "I mean, I wanted to distract myself from you, and he was available. Jake's absolutely nothing like you, so I thought I could forget and just be with him… it didn't work out so well."

Freddie's eyes lit up. "So you never really liked him?" he asked, hope apparent his voice. I shook my head.

"And you don't like him now?"

My lips parted in utter disbelief. "You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding."

He wasn't kidding.

I attacked him, knocking both of us to the ground as I threw deft punches at Freddie's arms and chest.

"Hey! What--_ow!--_what gives?" he shouted.

"You think I'd go out with Jake?" I growled, ignoring his feeble mutter of 'You did'. The smell of damp earth was powerful now. "He's the most shallow kid I know, and I'm including myself! Don't be an idiot."

I punctuated each word with a blow, as was my custom. Freddie shielded his face with his hands.

"You really like jumping on me," he grumbled, forcing me off of him.

"You were being stupid."

"So you decided to beat me up?"

I gave him a look. "Jake can do that for you on Monday."

"Yup," Freddie agreed. I sighed.

"Let's go," I said. "No use staying here any longer. I want to make the best of your final hours."

"Namely, trying to convince me not to fight Jake?" Freddie predicted.

"You got it."

He snorted, brushing the dirt off his new jeans before leading us both back to the main road. It was a miracle no one from our school had spotted me knocking him over yet; I seemed to do it a lot.

"Where are we going?" I questioned after five minutes of seemingly aimless walking. He stopped.

"I was following you!"

"Screw this, we're going to the pond," I sighed, messing Freddie's hair before stomping off in the opposite direction. 'The pond' was a sad little duck pond- more of a puddle than a pond- that had been around for as long as I remembered. For some reason, the awkward birds remained faithful to their hangout, splashing in the murky water and quacking mournfully, asking nearby humans to spare a crumb or two.

"We don't have any bread," Freddie argued, nevertheless following me. "What are we supposed to feed the little ducks?"

Though I never faltered in my confident strides, his question befuddled me for a moment. "I don't know," I snapped, covering the overlooked detail with a burst of annoyance. "I guess we'll have to toss rocks, because there's absolutely no place to get a loaf of bread in Seattle."

Freddie was silent, trotting beside me and looking eerily like a woebegone dog. Once again every other emotion shattered into guilt; he somehow managed to always get caught in the middle of my unexplained mood swings.

Apologizing seemed fruitless as the words would soon become meaningless, seeing how I used them so often. I settled for a determined change in conversation, laced with uncharacteristic cheerfulness.

"There's a bakery up ahead," I announced, extending a finger to point. "We can get some bread there. I still have some money, I'll pay."

I unconsciously patted a pocket, blowing out a relieved breath as the familiar rustle of dollar bills penetrated the air and was quickly swept away by the wind.

"I can pay," Freddie said. I restrained from rolling my eyes.

"I know you can," I said cordially. "Let me for once."

"No, really, I'll pay."

Our legs carried us in the direction of the bakery. I barely felt the minute change of scenery as my mind became wrapped in the not-quite-argument at hand.

"Freddie," I said with a strained laugh. "The guy doesn't always have to pay."

"I'm just trying to be nice," he said mildly.

"I know you are." My voice was still decidedly understanding, yet my patience was stretched thin. "But I can be nice too."

"You _are_ nice," Freddie said, looking confused. He dipped a hand into his jean pocket, fishing out a twenty dollar bill. I gritted my teeth. My pockets held only six dollars, and I had felt lucky to be carrying that amount.

"Fine, pay," I sighed, defeated. Freddie's absurdly kind nature was tough to trump. Why did I even try?

A silence descended upon us again. We entered the bakery, paid for the bread with Freddie's twenty, and began the trek to the duck pond. I mentally cursed Jake for ruining our perfect afternoon, even if it was partially my fault. More than partially.

"You okay?" he asked after minutes of quiet brooding. Though the words may have lost their meaning I didn't know what else to say.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I've been kind of a jerk today." Wow, that really summed up my worries. And I called myself a poet.

He looked infinitely surprised. "What? No! What're you talking about?" was his witty reply. He didn't give me a chance to respond, quickly adding, "It's been kind of a tough morning. I understand."

This confused me. "A tough morning?" I repeated.

"Well," he shuffled his feet, scuffing the soles. "The whole Jake thing, I guess. I won't fight him if you really don't want to, I was just so mad, he doesn't deserve either of you and he got both."

This was strangely sweet. I reminded Freddie that he too 'got' both Carly and me; he shivered and chided me not to compare him to Jake.

"I'm paying next time," I told him. "I don't care how 'nice' you are, it doesn't mean you have to empty your pockets every time we go out." 'Every time'- that sounded nice. As though we'd do this again, though I doubted I'd be so lucky.

He opened his mouth to retort; I snatched the bread from his hands and hit him over the head, effectively quenching his will to speak. "Don't argue," I said. "It's useless."

I remembered Freddie's method of winning of conversation, and quickly ran to the pond before he could use said method, for of course he would win. Ah, the ducks hadn't yet found the heart to leave their mud puddle.

"Has it shrunk?" Freddie questioned, catching up to me and peering into the miniscule pond. It was barely large enough for the eight ducks swimming there; two kept bopping underneath the water, bumping beaks and emerging spluttering. I didn't even know a duck could splutter.

"Here, little duckies!" I called, fumbling with the bread and tearing a chunk off. A small duck, its feathers still fluffy and pale claimed the food with a satisfied noise that could be conveyed as a quack or a honk. Freddie laughed, grabbing a fistful of bread and throwing it into the water.

We spent a good half our there, watching the animals fight over the bread. We sank into the grass, shaking with giggles as the smallest duck devoured a fifth piece, nearly choking but managing to give an oddly wolflike growl at its nearest companion, warning it to stay away from the bread.

Freddie's ankles crossed with mine, just as they had in the food court. I happily decided this would become one of our dating traits. A single piece of bread remained, surrounded by crust and thoroughly unappetizing. I reached for it lazily, though Freddie beat me there and hurled the bread into the pond. It became soaked on contact with the water, slowly sinking.

"Hey- Hey ducks!" Freddie yelled, scrambling to his feet though not uncrossing our ankles, causing us both to roll down the incline in the grass. "Bread!" he called, pointing wildly to the sinking food. "Come on, guys."

"I didn't know you were so passionate about ducks," I snickered.

"Maybe I should get that duck mask from Mandy," Freddie joked. I shook my head.

"If you do, then I'm taking Jake up on his offer," I groaned. Immediately afterward I regretted saying it; I had been regretting a lot lately.

Freddie cringed. I couldn't help but think, _Now you know how I feel, always worrying you'll find someone good enough and then you'll be gone._ Of course, he probably wasn't thinking that. Only I was that paranoid.

Instead of becoming moody and desolate, like I would have, Freddie did something far more kind and adorable; wrapping his arms around me in a hug, burying his face in my hair, and whispering, "Please don't." His voice sent tremors through my hair.

"Never," I said with a sad smile, wondering how I could have ever liked anyone but the boy currently acting as my personal teddy bear.

"You smell nice," Freddie commented. I laughed.

"Thanks, I think," I responded. Neither one of us made a move to disturb our position. The ducks quacked their approval, though they may have been fighting over bread.

My phone buzzed. A feeling of dread mingled with annoyance destroyed the lovely calm I had retained for so many minutes. Freddie pulled away, watching as I flipped the device open.

It was a call. It took me a few moments to realize this, leaving the person on the other end confused. Finally I placed the phone to an ear, saying, "Hello?"

"Sam!" Carly's cheerful voice sounded oddly tinny through my ancient phone.

"Hey," I said. "Uh, what's up?"

"Nothing really," she said with a gleeful undertone that something was definitely up. "How 'bout you?"

Oh, nothing. Your boyfriend's a cheating scumbag. "Just hanging at the duck pond," I said truthfully.

"Jake is so amazing," Carly sighed. Ah, so this was the real reason she had called. "It was never like this with Freddie, you know? Jake's so fun to be around, and he's _so_ funny. Oh, and talented! And not at tech stuff, he can really sing now, you wouldn't even believe it."

Freddie's face fell. I murmured, "Freddie's right next to me, Carls."

"Oh." She didn't sound all that apologetic, which bothered me.

"Listen, Carly, about Jake… we need to talk," I said uneasily.

"Okay, talk," she said. The slight to Freddie encouraged me to tell the blatant truth.

"He's not as great as you think," I started. Carly's laughter crackled through the speaker.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your date, you don't have to be down on Jake," Carly laughed. "It's just so awesome now, I had to tell someone. Who better to tell than you?"

"Yeah…"

"Go enjoy your day," Carly sighed. "I'll just sit here in my apartment, telling the couch about my awesome boyfriend."

"Carly--"

"So, couch, Jake can play guitar, too! He even wrote a song about me!" Carly chattered.

"_Carly_--"

"Aww, sorry," she giggled. "See ya, Sam."

Becoming frustrated with Carly and thinking she had already hung up, I shouted, "Jake doesn't even like you, you clueless lovestruck fangirl!"

Freddie rubbed his temples. I was about to flip the phone closed before a terrified voice called, "What?"

Carly never hung up, and had heard my outraged confession loud and clear.

"Sam, what did you say to me?"

I slowly closed the phone, though I knew I'd regret it later. Freddie's eyes met mine; we exchanged unspoken predictions of the week to come.

With deliberate slowness I embraced him again, my voice muffled as I said, "Hold me, I think I'm breaking."

It was supposed to be a joke, but Freddie murmured, "So poetic, even when flustered."

We sank to the ground again, lying back on the grass and speaking of nothing but the day, for the day is all we had. Tomorrow would be full of confusion and pain, so I'd savor the remainder of the daylight hours. They surely wouldn't last long enough.


	7. A kind of important announcement

Hey guys,

Just a quick announcement: My family is going on a vacation this week, so I won't be posting any new chapters (actually, I might post one today, if I have time, but no other ones for a week). I just wanted to let you ('you' meaning whoever reads this fic) know that if I don't post for a while, it's not because my dream of becoming a professional writer has finally come true and I've left fanfiction behind (*sigh*), it's just because I'm trying to get my stupid pale body to tan.

I'll actually be writing all vacation, because I'm a fictionholic. New chapters to come later. Love you all! =3

P.S. Even if I became a professional writer, I wouldn't stop with this fic. Seddie calls to me.


	8. Chapter 7

**This chapter is pretty short, and a bit rushed at the end, because I wrote it quickly. I'm leaving for the airport in about twenty minutes, and I didn't want this chapter to be postponed. Sorry for any typos, see you in a week! =3**

Though the pond was nice enough, I couldn't be distracted from my fate for long. The ducks and scenery were hardly capturing stuff. My thoughts strayed back to my conversation with Carly, and anticipation churned in my stomach. I could feel pinpricks of guilt flowering over my skin, eating away at the calm shell I had perfected.

"You okay?" Freddie murmured. He gave the illusion of a relaxed and happy-go-lucky teenager, but I knew Freddie was as nervous as I was. He too had important subjects on the mind; his fight with Jake, for instance. Though nothing tied him to it, I knew he wouldn't give up the idea. 

"I don't really know," I admitted, settling deeper into the grass. "I'm the world's biggest idiot, so how okay can I be?"

"Very okay," Freddie said. "You're not an idiot, you were frustrated and Carly's being a bit of a bitch."

"Such language, Fredward," I said. "What would your mother say?"

"She'd say 'okay, time to go to juvie'."

"Can I come?" This conversation was pointless, and didn't have the heart our usual off-topic exchanges had. Our day was ruined, despite the early hour and the prettiness of the landscape. 

"Let's go," Freddie decided, rising from the grass. I stayed put, but Freddie pulled me up by the arms (though he threatened to use my hair). 

"Where?" I yawned. Could I actually be tired? 

"Who cares?" Freddie said. "Not here. C'mon."

We walked in somewhat stony silence, at peace with each other but warring with our thoughts. _Idiot, idiot, idiot, _repeated in my head like a mantra. I could have told Carly so subtly that Jake was a cheating bastard, it would have been so easy just to pull her aside on Monday. Now I was forced to get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness before even uttering the words she so desperately needed to hear.

It really was a nice day. Birds chirped in the trees, calling out garbled tweets in a language foreign to humans. They could have been shouting, "Hey, Fred! Sam just killed her friendship with Carly, and Freddie's gonna get his face pounded in on Monday," for all I knew, and I'd just stand there and go "Aww, birds!" while they snickered at our misfortune.

"What are you thinking?" Freddie asked gloomily. It briefly crossed my mind that Edward Cullen asked Bella the same thing, though without the Eyore-type tone. If Freddie had just talked a bit more mysteriously, maybe staring enraptured with eyes black as midnight--

"You could be Edward Cullen," I commented. Crap. I had said that out loud.

He burst out laughing, all the while fixing me with a very un-Edward-like gaze. "Me?" he snorted. "You've lost it."

"If you were paler," I muttered. He loosed another set of giggles. 

"If I'm Edward, than you're Bella. You're hardly Bella-material, Sam," he said between bouts of laughter. "Oh man, just picturing you all 'Whatever you say, Edward, you're my life'"--

"Forget it!" I sighed, unable to force back a grin. "You are definitely not Edward. Emmett, I think."

Freddie didn't seem to have a retort for this. He stayed smiling mindlessly for a moment longer, before the look faded and the happiness drained from his eyes. Reality had claimed another victim. 

"Where to?" I said quickly. "We still have hours."

This seemed to cheer him at least a little. I wasn't feeling too chipper myself, but the thought of more time was comforting. I knew it wouldn't last, though; I was hiding behind the clock, shielding myself from the future with the hours slowly ticking by. 

He didn't respond for a few minutes; whether Freddie was considering the question or lost in his misfortune I couldn't tell. 

"I'm hungry," he said with a sigh. "Food?" he added with a hopeful glance at me.

"We just ate!" I said with a hint of disbelief. "How in the world can you be hungry?"

He shrugged. It struck me that Freddie was just suggesting something to do, instead of actually wanting to satisfy a craving. Oddly sweet.

"The 'Groovy Smoothie' isn't too far from here," I noted. "We can go there, if you like."

"I was thinking 'Guilini's'," Freddie admitted. A faint growl could be heard; his stomach? Maybe the boy really was hungry.

"Sure," I readily agreed. "To 'Guilini's'."

We took our sweet time getting there, absently speaking of the scenery which suddenly didn't seem as bright and majestic. The shop lazily came into view; we gave up trying to make time crawl and rushed to the shop. The thought of pie got me salivating a little.

The coolness of the shop blew gently over my skin. The air conditioning was usually turned up way too high, but now it actually felt nice. I massaged my lower arms, getting used to the temperature change.

"Get a table," Freddie said before leaving my side. My eyes traveled around the little room; we were practically alone. 

A nice little booth was tucked cheerfully in the corner. I snagged it, sliding in with a grace I usually didn't possess. Pushing a hand through my wind-blown hair, I waited for Freddie with our pie. 

My phone buzzed against my leg. I dipped a hand inside the pocket, pulling out the dated device with a sinking feeling in my stomach. My tongue passed over dry lips before I flipped the phone open. 

"Hey. You there?" Jake's voice, oddly small and canned, emanated from the speakers. 

I pressed the cold metal to my cheek. "You've got a lot of nerve, calling me," I hissed. "We'll talk on Monday, face-to-face. I'm busy." 

My words were cruel (or so I hoped), but butterflies were fluttering about in my throat. I was infinitely nervous to talk to Jake or Carly, though both conversations were unavoidable. 

"Just listen," Jake said calmly. In all my stupidity, I obeyed.

"Okay. I guess I shouldn't have asked you out again, okay? I didn't realize you actually liked that Freddie kid. Sorry, all right? Can we forget it?"

My lips parted in indignant surprise. "You're kidding me. That's your idea of an apology? What happened to you?"

"Huh?" was his clever response. Maybe Jake hadn't been the sweet guy I thought he was. 

Freddie chose that moment to return. I covered the mouthpiece with a roll of my eyes, the kind of thing a mom does when on the phone with a telemarketer. 

"Call me back later," I said conversationally. "We can talk then."

"Oh, I get it," Jake snickered. "You don't want the Freddie guy to know we're talking. Is he there?"

Freddie heard snatches of Jake's voice. "Who is that?" he demanded. 

"Jake," I responded, not wanting to lie. He might as well know. "One sec."

"Carly called me to tell about your little conversation," Jake said. "She's furious. Didn't believe a word of it. Why should she? You were screaming at her."

"That's not true!" I growled, face flushing. "She wouldn't listen--"

"Sam." Jake's voice sounded suddenly urgent, his cool demolished. "I like Carly. She's cute. I don't want our relationship to be over. If you tell her you were kidding, or lying, or whatever--"

"No!" 

"_Listen_. If you clear things up, then I won't say some things that might or might not be true."

I froze. "What?"

"She's a bit paranoid lately, though she doesn't want to show it. Carly thinks I still like you, and vice versa. It wouldn't take much to convince her that you came onto me."

"I have the messages you sent," I announced triumphantly. "You seriously can't lie your way out of that one."

There was nothing but pondering silence on the other end for a few moments. Then, "True, I guess. But I could still turn her against you. You have no clue how infatuated she is with me. It's kinda funny!"

I felt like punching him.

"Delete the messages and tell her you lied."

"Screw you."

"See you Monday."

The line went dead. I flipped the phone closed in disgust. 

"What was that?" Freddie asked nervously.

"Jake made a few threats. I'll worry about it later." It seems I was saving a lot of worrying for 'later'. But when would 'later' be, exactly? Monday? Tomorrow, if Carly confronted me? Even today? Whatever. I had a few precious hours left.

"Can we forget it for now?" I said over Freddie's budding questions. "Yay. Pie."

I dug into the creamy pie with a plastic fork Freddie had brought. His eyes had lowered to the plate, though I had an inkling he wasn't thinking about delicious desserts. 

"Hey." He glanced at me, sighing. "Don't worry!" I persisted. "We'll do that later. Enjoy this, for now."

"That worked earlier, when we only had to worry about my mother," he said, making a very good point. I ignored it all the same. Instead, I grabbed his fork, scooped up some pie, and shoved it towards his face.

"Eat, or this goes all over your new clothes," I warned. He laughed, permitting me to force the plastic tongs past his lips. He almost choked, but his eyes were shining with mirth. 

We cleaned the tin thoroughly. Freddie went so far as to pick up the empty dish and lick it. I pulled a face.

"That's disgusting, you know," I reminded him. Freddie stuck his tongue out at me, which lost its mocking effect as his tongue had already been out, licking at the tin. He looked ridiculous.

I leaned forward, grabbing his hair and pulling him forcefully away from the pie tin. He yelped in protest before I took his lips for a quick (and oddly tasty) kiss. 

"I can't believe you're such a romantic," Freddie grumbled, nonetheless blushing. I grinned.

"I have to remind you that we're dating," I said. "We've just been hanging out; I want to do dating things."

He raised an eyebrow. "What has possessed you lately? A month ago, if someone suggested we date, you would have beaten the crap out of both the person and me."

"_You've_ possessed me."

"Uh, creepy much?"

"No, I'm serious! I feel different now. So, thanks."

He smiled. "Anytime." 

We didn't want to leave; the sky was darkening, blotches of deep blue streaking across the clouds. My ankles absently crossed with his. 

"We still have tomorrow," Freddie said. "Oh, that reminds me! Where are you staying tonight?" 

I fell silent, lost in thought. Where _would _I stay tonight? Not with Freddie or Carly, that's for sure, though both for different reasons. At home? My mother wouldn't miss me if I was gone, or notice if I was there, which was a bit of a win-lose situation. 

"I'll decide later," I said uncomfortably. "You want more pie?"

We got another tinful, devouring it like ravenous wolves (or, in Freddie's case, a very hungry deer). For an hour more we were trapped in happy solitude, hiding from our problems for a little while longer. 

**Comments please? Oh, and tell me this: would anyone like to see this story get a little bit fluffier? It's fluffy already, but I want more Seddie romance and I want to know if any readers would object to this. Let me know! **


	9. Chapter 8

**Back after my family vacation. Whoo. **

**I know my chapters have been getting shorter, and I promise an extra long one in the future. This is sort of a transition piece. **

**If you read it, COMMENT. Even if you are not logged in. Comments tell me that people are reading the fic, and that I should continue.**

**I'm not just saying this to be needy. Though, as a fan fiction author, I'm obligated to be a little bit needy. I adore feedback; someone told me I shouldn't make the fic too mushy, so I dialed it back, and will continue to. Tell me what you like, dislike, or want in the future. **

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The shop was closing, darkness had descended, and my spirits had taken a brutal beating.

Freddie and I had grasped at our fleeting freedom with determination, but time doesn't care how much you want it to stop. It keeps draining each day, excruciatingly slow in some cases and breathtakingly fast in others. This was one of the former cases, and I detested it.

We grudgingly left 'Guilini's', watching sadly as the blinds were shut and the lights extinguished. I had no clue what time it was; half past happiness, at least.

Freddie glanced about the street, squinted into the distance, then began walking briskly towards his apartment complex. "You're staying with me again," he announced. I didn't exactly agree.

"I think I'll just go home," I said sweetly, moving a lot slower than he was.

"No," Freddie said firmly. "It's not safe."

"My own house isn't safe?"

"Yes." He glared at me. At least I had gotten him to slow down. "You know it, too. Your mother isn't dangerous, but you'll be miserable there."

"I've managed a lot of nights in that place, Freddie," I said with an eye roll. "It's my _house_, for pete's sake. Well, my trailer. My mother's crazy, the whole place sucks, so what? I'm not going to your apartment again."

He stopped, crossing his arms. "Why?"

I groped the depths of my mind for an answer. Did Freddie know that I knew how his mother felt towards me? He obviously knew something was up, but did he know I eavesdropped? "It's just… not polite."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, screw polite," I allowed. "Maybe I want a change of scenery."

He tapped his right foot against the pavement. The continuous sound echoed in the stillness that might have actually been peaceful if we both weren't so stressed.

"Your mom doesn't really like me," I sighed, eyes fixed on the pavement. He nodded.

"Okay. Now we're getting somewhere." We started walking again at a normal pace. "What makes you think my mom doesn't like you?"

"You know perfectly well she doesn't," I snapped. He smirked.

"Yes, I do. That wasn't my question. I was wondering why _you_ think she doesn't like you. I have my reasons to believe the same thing."

"Oh," I mumbled. "Well, she just…" I didn't want to admit the truth. "Why do _you_ think so?"

He pursed his lips but let my question dodging go. "Think, Sam. You've tortured me since we both wore little frilly outfits our mothers picked out for us. How's a mother supposed to react when her son suddenly starts dating the girl he's hated for so long?"

"Wait, who said anything about frilly outfits?"

He blushed. "Forget that part. Just answer."

"No, I want details, Benson. Frilly as in lacy edges, or those stupid puffy sleeve things toddlers wear?"

"_Sam_…"

"I'll go with both. Okay, I guess your mom has a right to be freaked out when her perfect Nancy-boy of a son starts going out with a hooligan like yours truly."

"Nancy-boy?"

"Would you rather be a hooligan?" I grinned.

"I know my mom's been really idiotic," Freddie said, ignoring my rather immature comments. His exasperation leeched the satisfaction from making snarky remarks. "But… just stay tonight, okay? You never have to stay again."

"Your mom'll throw me out a window in the dead of night," I muttered. When Freddie sighed, I protested, "Oh, come on, I wouldn't put it past her! A quick and easy way to eliminate the threat that is Samantha Puckett forever."

"I'm getting you off whatever medication you're on."

I raised an eyebrow in mock confusion. "Coffee, then?"

"Coffee isn't a drug."

"Says you."

He rubbed his temples with two fingertips. I fidgeted, uncomfortable; my reflex in situations like this was to annoy the person enough that he or she would drop the subject and let me have my way. This tactic would get me a night in the place of my choosing, but would leave Freddie unhappy and worried. Maybe it was worth it; maybe it would even save our relationship, by keeping the ebbing approval of his mother, or at least preserving her tolerance.

Or maybe it would just land me with a very pissed and over protective boyfriend. I decided to take my chances.

I decided to go home and drop the whole annoyance plan altogether. A cold shutdown would suffice.

"I'll see you tomorrow, 9:00 sharp," I said brightly. "And don't worry, I promise I'll cut back on the coffee. Maybe." With that I turned on my heel and walked in the direction of my house.

Freddie quickly followed. "Wait, what? Sam, can't we just talk this over a little more? My mom will be fine with you staying another night, and if she isn't, I'll make her. She really is a pushover if you know how to negotiate. I'll do the dishes for a week or something."

All the while I walked, my patience stretching thinner and thinner. I was trying to do us both a favor here.

"Where are you going, anyway?" he continued, then plowed on without waiting for an answer. "Not Carly's, of course. If you're going home, I hope you realize that it's a pretty long walk, and it's getting dark--"

I stopped, turned, and flicked Freddie as hard as I could between his anxious eyes. Said eyes became wide and confused for a moment, but the look classified as 'needy parent' still lingered.

"You seem to have a problem with me becoming all sweet and romantic around you," I said in a tone that couldn't be described as either kind nor unkind; it was indifferent, maybe just a bit colored by my annoyance. "So I'm making a rash decision, not considering your feelings whatsoever. I thought you'd be thrilled."

He stuttered for a moment, and I flicked him again, effectively cutting off his stutters.

"Would the Sam from just a few weeks ago stay at your place just because you wanted her to? I doubt it, and you can trust my opinion, because -spoiler alert!- I was her. Am her. In the future, I will have been her. I'm going home to curl in my undersized bed and listen to Sufjan Stevens way too loud on my iPod. Good day to you, Kind Nerd."

I began walking again, and this time Freddie didn't chase. A few stunned laughs wafted to my ears, gradually becoming softer as Freddie headed for his apartment to give his mother the news that her unwanted houseguest had left the premises for the weekend. Hallelujah.

Freddie had been right; it was a long walk to my house, a walk that wouldn't have been unpleasant if I didn't have so many unhappy thoughts to stew in.

My anger was consuming; it swallowed the good memories from today and warped them until everything glowed with a reddish hue of fury. Every thought was Jake this and Jake that, reliving our call and memorizing his texts. That boy had made a mess that I was now obligated to clean up. Me! Cleaning! I shuddered.

The eerie silence of the night did nothing to distract me from my future. I longed to hear a single cricket; all the little bugs seemed to be taking a night off. Slackers.

I felt my jean pocket, delighted to find that my bulky phone had survived the days' events and was still tucked behind the fabric. I pulled it out and flipped it open, rejoicing in the artificial light blazing from the screen. It bathed my face in blue, momentarily shocking me. I had to readjust to the sudden change before thumbing through my contacts and finding Carly's cell phone.

Taking a bit of the weight off my shoulders couldn't hurt. Calling Carly seemed a perfect way to accomplish this. Ignoring the flip in my stomach that usually warned me of a bad idea, I pressed _call_ and put the metal to my ear.

The monotony of the ring only extended my agitation. I longed for her to pick up for a multitude of reasons, the weakest being that I wanted someone to talk to.

Carly's voice chimed through the speakers, recorded and overly cheery. "Hey, you've reached Carly. Sorry I missed your call; I'm either helping Spencer with a project or I've been digested by a dinosaur. You choose which sounds more likely. Leave me a message and I'll call you right back. Bye!"

I sighed, and a rush of static drowned the _beep!_ signaling I should record my message. I quickly said, "Uh, hey! It's me. Things got sort of weird today, huh?"

I paused, as though letting her answer.

"Sorry I snapped at you, but I had a legit reason. I'm going to explain, and you better not delete this, girl. I've got all night to leave annoying messages. You promise you'll listen?"

Another pause, for comedic relief if nothing else.

"I'll take your inhumane silence as a yes. It began when Freddie and I were in the mall…"

I went on to explain Jake's texts, which I recited for her, and his call at the Groovy Smoothie including his threats.

"…There. That's my story. You don't have to believe it, but you'd be kinda stupid not to. Who are you going to believe, Carls? Your best friend or the tone-deaf blonde kid? I don't care what you say, he could not have become a good singer so fast, it's not possible. So, I'll see you soon. Bye."

I lingered a moment too long on the call, so the end of the message contained several seconds of muffled quiet. Finally the phone was snapped shut, the call ended. My shoulders were still heavy with the burden of the layered fight, and no weight would be removed until Carly returned the call or we met in person. I groaned.

I jogged the rest of the way to my house, arriving at the front door panting. It was unlocked- never a safe decision in our neighborhood- so I snuck inside and bolted the lock after me.

My room was oddly welcoming in its cluttered cramped way. I slid under the covers and grabbed my iPod, flicking through the artists until I found Sufjan Stevens. Sinking into the bed wasn't too hard, getting comfortable and losing myself in the peculiar state of mind that is half-conscious and half-unconscious.

'Come on! Feel the Illinois!' pounded through my eardrums. Was it possible for something so gentle to be so strong? I picked out certain words, enjoying the feel of them in my head.

Soon my thoughts melded with the lyrics of the song, so half of the time my mental narrative sounded like me, and half the time like Sufjan. It was pretty calming. Songs started and ended, dragging out yet ending too quickly.

God, music was beautiful when half-asleep; I couldn't hear the lyrics anymore, those were far gone, melding with the melody so that the singer's voice was nothing but a reassuring voice whispering soothing nonsense. I drifted, never fully lost to slumber but so, so relaxed.

Sleep claimed me eventually, as all good things had to end. But I had no dreams, thought no thoughts, and rested, rejuvenating my body for the day of fixing and calming ahead.


	10. Chapter 9

**Sorry it's been a while since I updated, but yay, here it is! A long chapter, for once. Twelve pages. I enjoyed writing every minute of it. **

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Soft sunlight streamed through the single window. I growled, eyes momentarily stunned by even this little amount of light. Ugh, what time was it?

I clamored to my other side, groping on my nightstand for my phone. It took about fifteen hours for the thing to turn on, so I naturally dropped back off to sleep for a moment. The sound of my own snores startled me into consciousness again.

7:30. Too early, especially on Sunday. I was all ready to snuggle back into the inviting bed again when puzzle pieces snapped back into sharp relief, reminding me of today's events.

Ah, yes. The whole fight settled today, if I could help it. I groaned in what I hoped was a pathetic way, that maybe made you want to buy me a cookie and give me a big hug. It probably just sounded like a dying animal.

My phone beeped. I flipped it open to find the "New Message" symbol blinking furiously. My heart pounded uncomfortably; had Carly called?

I opened my voicemail, muttering along to the recorded message of "Please enter your password".

"Message received today at five thirty-seven," the cool feminine voice told me. 5:37 AM. Who's even awake at 5:37 AM? Crazy people, that's who.

"Hey, Sam," Spencer's voice said. Weird. "Uh, I don't really know what's going on between you and Carly. I'm guessing some kinda freaky girl business that I really don't want to know about, but the sibling siren is going off. Can you hear it?"

Spencer must have pulled away from the phone at this point, screeching "BOOOEEEEOOOOEEEEEE". I held the phone at arms' length.

"Spencer," Carly's voice groaned from somewhere a bit farther away. "It's five thirty. Go t' bed."

"Sorry, Carls," Spencer apologized. "Just talking to Socko. He's got this friend who knows a guy who works at this cheese factory, right? So--"

"Tell me later, 'kay?" Carly yawned. I smiled; even when unbearably annoyed and half-awake, Carly was reasonable and patient. With Spencer, that is.

Retreating footsteps could be heard. Just how long was this message? I curled closer together under the blanket, knees knocking against my chest.

"Sorry about that," Spencer whispered into the phone. Far too close, it seemed; his voice was now distorted by static. "Anyway, I don't want to be part of this whole fight--battle--epic… thing. But Carly's upset, and basically flung herself at me mumbling yesterday. I caught a few words-- 'Sam'-- 'Jake' -- 'Talking to couch'-- but nothing specific. I don't really know why I called now… this seemed like a better idea when I was still on my caffeine high. Just-- just try to work things out with Carly, okay? Call me-- her-- whatever-- back."

_Beeeeep_.

I closed the phone, exiting my voicemail. Almost immediately I flipped it back open, dialing Carly's number far too fast.

It rang a few times, maybe three, before someone picked up. "Hello?" Carly said.

I was momentarily tongue-tied. I had expected Spencer to pick up, then maybe melt some of the ice around Carly for me. No going back now.

"H-hey!" I said quickly. "It's me. Don't hang up."

There was a pause, maybe a slight intake of breath, but she didn't hang up.

"Did you get my message?"

"Yeah," Carly said. I couldn't decipher her tone. It bugged me.

"Okay, well… that's sort of my side of things. I'm really sorry about yesterday, but whatever Jake told you is a lie."

"What?"

Now she sounded a bit defensive. "Jake told me he would say a few things… have you talked to him?"

"Yeah."

This was getting me nowhere. "What did he say?"

"It's kind of private," she said evasively. "I mean, what did you and Freddie talk about all day yesterday?"

"I'm not asking for a play-by-play. I just want to know if Jake said anything about me."

Pause. "He said some stuff. So did you."

"Carls, I swear whatever he said isn't true."

"You don't even know what he said!"

"That's because you won't tell me!" I sighed. I felt like I was sweating awkwardness.

She didn't reply. I was getting that about-to-blurt-something-I'll-regret feeling, and quickly added, "Can we talk? Like, in person? I can be over at your place faster than a speeding bullet."

"It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Sam Puckett!" Carly murmured, almost involuntarily. I grinned.

"I don't know," she continued. "Maybe we could just talk tomorrow?"

"No," I whined. "The school doesn't have ham."

"I'll be here all day," she said quietly.

"Yay! Except a random visit."

"When?" She sounded almost wary.

"Uh, within the next couple hours? I sorta just woke up."

"'Kay. See you then," she said, and thank god for the smile in her voice. She hung up, and I listened to the whispering background noise for a moment.

I closed the phone and reopened it for a second, checking the time. Ten minutes had passed since I awoke. For once in my life, I felt like an early bird.

Did I just use the expression 'early bird'?

I jumped from the bed, shivering as relatively cool air stole the residual warmth from me. Jeans hung sadly over a chair; I grabbed them, a shirt, and a half-jacket with spiraling print. Soon my ensemble was complete and sitting snugly on my tired body. Bleh. It was far too early.

The bathroom light seemed to avoid my fingertips for minutes, leaving me in uncomfortable darkness. Finally, florescent light flooded the tiny space, illuminating the dingy sink in all its glory. I crammed my toothbrush into my mouth, running a brush through my hair. Turning too quickly, my elbow knocked the corner of the porcelain sink. My teeth dug into the bristles of my toothbrush as I bit back a few unsavory words. Soon, my face was as presentable as the rest of me.

I navigated the dark trailer fairly well for a disoriented non-morning person. I stood before my room in thoughtful quiet, deciding whether to rush over to Carly's now or wait an hour or two.

A breeze ghosted over the back of my neck, making me shiver. The lack of light from the surrounding rooms was suddenly very apparent, and, since the ripping snores emanating from mom's room told me I was the only one up, I felt lonely.

Nope. I didn't want to be alone.

I scribbled a quick note for my mother, leaving it where she would have to notice- above her bed. Hopefully she wouldn't knock her head in her confusion at the unfamiliar piece of paper, though it wouldn't surprise me. Grabbing my phone and whatever my hand first touched in the fridge, I zipped through the door, leaving no evidence of my presence except the faint, lingering smell of my perfume coating the halls.

In an attempt to feel like the trees and shrubs lining the street were not my only living companions, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the contacts. Obviously there was no one to call; I had known that. I had done it for the same reason people pull up different windows while searching the internet when procrastinating. To make myself busy.

Did I dare call Freddie at this ungodly hour? Well, ungodly for a Sunday, anyway. It _was_ 8:00, and he did seem like the kind of person who would wake up (or be forced up) early on weekends. Though if anyone called me on a Sunday morning, they would have to expect a thorough face-punching the minute I fully woke up.

He seemed to like me better insensitive, always insinuating how much I've changed since we started dating. I dialed his cell.

It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up. A crackling on the other end suggested he might have dropped the phone a few times before finally getting it near his mouth and mumbling, "H'lo?"

"Rise and shine," I said, louder than necessary. He groaned.

"Go back to bed," he demanded. "Call me in a few days."

"Think you'll be up by then?"

"We'll see. Go 'way."

"I'm coming over," I said. There was a muffled noise of surprise as his sleep-addled mind registered this.

"Why?" he yawned. "In fact, why are you even up?"

"Because I'm coming over, smart one," I said.

"No, why did you get up so early to come over?"

"This conversation's going nowhere. I'm not coming over to see you, I'm coming over to see Carly. Maybe I'll be able to fix this thing before breakfast."

"Why'd you call _me_?" he whined. "I was all set to sleep till twelve or so. If you're not even coming over to my place--"

"Just keep your door unlocked. If things turn ugly, I'm fleeing to safer territory. Also, I was bored."

Silence on the other end. I listened for a moment to see if I had lost the connection. All I heard was increasingly even breathing.

"Wake up!" I shouted. His disoriented grunt of "Wha?" was soon followed by another muffled minute as he scrambled for the phone.

"Sorry. I'm tired. How close are you?"

"Close enough," I said. "I'll be there in ten minutes, tops. Don't hang up."

"You're cruel," he muttered. I grinned.

"Nothing's stopping you from hanging up."

"Just the prospect of a very angry and sleep-deprived Sam showing up at my front door," he said.

"So what's up?" I asked, wanting to keep the conversation from falling into the awkward stage where neither participant wants to hang up, yet can't think of anything to fill the void with.

"Sky," Freddie mumbled. It was my turn to groan.

"Maybe I will hang up."

"No, don't. Uh, I dreamt I was being chased by a giant pig last night. He was wearing a sombrero."

I raised an eyebrow. "Your mom's Swine Flu talks finally getting to you?"

"Maybe," he said. "She's been leaving pamphlets on my pillow about the dangers of the dreaded Swine Flu. I even had to take a bath in something called 'Pig Repellant' that she bought at some obscure CVS wannabe."

"Pig Repellant. You're kidding me."

"We've even stopped buying ham."

"The horror!" I gasped. "And she does know that she won't get anything from good, innocent ham?"

"Maybe deep down. So, how was your night?"

"Uneventful," I admitted. "No dreams, even. Oh, wait!" I recalled a flash of… something. "No, I dreamed I was in someplace like Narnia, but it was like a beach instead of eternal winter. And you got there by slamming your head into a chalkboard. Pick wisely, though, because not all chalkboards transport you anywhere; some of them are just solid, so you'd break your head."

"Fun."

"Very."

"Oh, hey, I'm almost there," I said as the Bushwell came into sight. "I'm gonna run."

"You sure you're ready to face her?" he said nervously. "This could be a mistake."

"You want to solve this tomorrow in school?"

"…No," he admitted. "That'd be worse. But I could talk to her…"

"Have fun with that."

"I gotta go. Mom's up. I'm not allowed to be on my phone after eight or before ten."

"Wait," I laughed. "Eight o'clock at night, and ten o'clock AM?"

"Yup."

"Loser."

"Bye, Sam."

I grinned as the phone went dead and I shoved it back into my pocket. Crossing the street (and avoiding a collision with a very ticked off minivan), I pushed through the double doors and headed up the stairs. I could've taken an elevator, but I guess some part of me really did want to stall this little conversation.

Carly's hall met my eyes far too fast. I took two tentative steps towards her door, shifting my gaze between the door opposite theirs. Taking a miniscule breath, I knocked twice, praying to the God of Minor Arguments that Spencer would answer.

The God of Minor Arguments must've been in a good mood.

"Hey," Spencer said, hair sticking up in five directions. He still looked pretty much awake. "Did you get my message?"

"It nearly busted my ear," I grinned, stepping inside. Enemy territory. I could feel the tension crackling off the walls, but maybe I was just projecting. "Please drop the Sibling Siren."

"Consider it dropped."

We stood for a moment, either waiting for Carly to appear or for the other to speak.

I had just opened my mouth to inquire on the whereabouts of Carly when Spencer hollered his sister's name in the direction of the stairs.

"Okay!" Carly yelled back. "Coming down!"

"Have fun!" Spencer said brightly, without a trace of sarcasm. He really didn't know what was going on.

Carly bounded down the stairs, washed, brushed, and sporting a side ponytail. Not bad on such short notice.

"Hi," she said cordially.

"Hey. So, let's figure this out."

"Okay," she said, in the same polite tone. We sat on the couch. I felt like a wall of Plexiglas divided us.

"So, this fight is weird and unnecessary and I want it to stop," I said at once. Might as well put it out there.

"Yeah," she said. Silence.

"Jake's been sending me all these messages," I continued. "And I think you'll understand yesterday better if you see them."

"He mentioned them," Carly said softly. "Said his friend stole his phone, trying to piss him off. It makes sense. He and Mike have been in a fight for a while."

Mike was one of Jake's friends, with whom he often got into loud, heated arguments. Carly was right. It made perfect sense; Mike knew all about me and Carly. I would have believed it too, if not for the phone call.

"Jake called me, too," I said, a little desperate. "It was him. I know his voice. I also know Mike's."

"He said you'd lie about that."

"Okay. This comes down to who are you going to believe?"

"Don't do that to me," she pleaded, twirling a stray strand of hair between two fingers. "I don't know who to pick."

"Come _on_," I whined, trying to leech the anger from my voice. Anger would get me nowhere. "You've been dating him for, like, a week. I know you're smitten, but please, think!"

Her features seemed to crumple slightly, as though tears were being hidden in a valiant attempt to stay civil. "I don't want him to be lying," she whimpered.

Okay. She was in denial, and she knew it. This was a problem.

"Here," I said, tossing her my phone. "Look at the messages. Even look at my incoming calls. I'm. Not. Making. This. Up."

She played with my phone for a moment, pupils becoming unfocused as she switched screens. I could see the dwelling sadness behind her eyes. Watching her make a decision, I could do nothing more than to sit, knees against my chest, and wait.

Carly returned the phone. I slipped it into a pocket.

"Well?" I demanded.

"I don't know!" she cried. "You were so weird yesterday, and he was perfectly normal…"

"I was worried about you. I still am. Jake played us both; he's a jerk."

"You were using him!" Carly said angrily. "You can't say that he played you."

"Fine. He didn't. But he doesn't care about you. Jake doesn't have the emotional capacity to care about anything except his hair and his off-key, cheesy-as-cheesecake music."

Carly's eyes met mine, and I saw that some restraint had broken within her; maybe she was touchy about his music. Maybe she just didn't want me telling the truth in the unsympathetic way of mine. Too bad. I'd make her listen.

"Freddie is going to be killed if you don't dump Jake," I said, though this wasn't entirely true. Freddie hadn't seemed as enthusiastic about fighting Jake after we had talked, though there was still a possibility he wanted to fight, and I wanted to stamp the idea out completely.

She laughed in a strained way. "That is the worst attempt at blackmail--"

"He's going to fight Jake because he's being so awful to you. Freddie was with me all yesterday; would he risk the current arrangement of his facial features just to back up one of my lies?" I said, voice increasing in volume. "He's not an idiot. Well, I take that back. He _is_ an idiot, because he thinks with that overly large heart of his."

Tenderness for Freddie swelled between us, softening the Plexiglas wall dividing us. But we were still tensed on the couch as though the other would suddenly grow fangs and attack.

"I don't want Freddie to fight," Carly grumbled. I nodded in agreement.

"Then please, _please_ break up with Jake," I pleaded. "He's a manipulative weasel."

"Weasels are cute," she sighed.

"Weasels are weasly," I said wisely. She couldn't help but giggle.

"I care about you, Carls. I don't want you hurt. I also don't want you pissed off at me. It's not that fun."

She glanced up, quickly glancing away again. Her jaw worked oddly, as though she was deciding whether or not to speak. I sat patiently.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. It was barely audible, but I heard.

"It's not your fault. You were under the influence of a sexy weasel."

She leaned towards me awkwardly, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, as though she were afraid to complete a hug. I returned the gesture far too forcefully, sending us both to the floor, flailing.

Once we picked ourselves up, the residual laughter finally dying on our lips, Carly plopped back on the couch.

"You're going to hate me for this," she said in a voice that suggested she wanted to get the worst over with. "And I feel bad, but…"

She petered out. I waited, punctuating the silence with a few directed sighs and foot taps.

"I'm not breaking up with Jake."

I would like to say that I handled this maturely, with many wise head-nods and intelligent questions. In place of that, I blurted, "What?" and continued to bombard her with questions like, "Are you kidding me?" "What have we been talking about for the past twenty minutes?" and, my personal favorite, "Ughhhhh!" which didn't really count as a question, but it described how I felt at the moment.

"I need to talk to him," she said quietly, waiting for my protests to subside. "Give me a couples days."

"In a couple days, Freddie will be resting under a tombstone reading 'Here lies Fredward Benson, killed by a sexy weasel'."

"A good way to die."

"Carly," I moaned. "I don't want Freddie to die. I like him alive."

"You could always develop necrophilia…"

"Ew! Ew! Ew!" I squealed. The corners of her mouth twitched.

"Tell him not to fight," Carly said with a shrug. "He'll listen to you."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll get right on that."

Carly spared me a sad smile. "Well, we're not fighting anymore. Doesn't that count for something?"

My silence must have tipped her off. Her eyebrows knitted together.

"We… we're not still fighting, are we?" she said in a voice too octaves too high.

"I dunno. I don't understand how you can still like him. It pisses me off more than you could ever know."

"Go and talk to Freddie," she said. "That will solve a lot."

I thought for a moment before a downright evil idea struck me. If I were a lightning rod, and this idea were lightning, then the lightning bolt would have been wearing a cape and some sort of mechanical claw.

"I have an idea," I said, far too gleeful than I should have been. She motioned for me to continue. "How about I bring Freddie over here, and you explain to him why you're not breaking up with Jake? Then you can beg him not to fight your boyfriend, and I'll cease to be mad at you. Everybody wins."

Her eyes were wide. "But… Freddie, he'll… he's already ticked at Jake, right? I can't talk to him now, he'll explode!"

"It always gets darkest before the dawn," I said sagely. "I'll be right back. Be ready."

"I'm not speaking to him!" Carly called helplessly. I was already halfway to the door.

"Oh, yeah? You want to watch Freddie fight Jake and know you didn't even try to stop it?" I said over my shoulder. Her small sigh of defeat had me grinning. Gotta love that conscience.

Just as the door was closing, Carly rushed forward, wrapped two fingers around the doorframe, and yanked it back open. "I'll come," she sighed. "Might as well do this in Freddie's apartment instead of mine. That way I can leave after he's done trying to convince me to dump Jake, and give you two some alone time."

"How considerate."

"I always am."

"Hmm," I said, garbled letters to end the mini conversation. We knocked twice on the door leading to Freddie's apartment, listening to the activity inside.

The door swung open to reveal a flustered Freddie, peeved expression in place on his features. This won't be fun, I thought glumly. But it has to be done. So it will be.

"Hey," I said brightly, wrapping an arm around Carly's shoulders and giving him my best overly-happy smile. He looked frightened. "Can we come in?"

* * *

**Reviews are love, and reviewers are loved. Did that make sense?**


	11. Freddie's Fight

**This chapter's dedicated to eggplantica, who sent me a PM wondering when I'd update this thing. I immediately began writing, suddenly struck with blessed inspiration, and didn't stop until after midnight.**

* * *

The explaining took a minute or so, just to catch him up to speed. Freddie listened silently, back rigid against the couch. Carly cut in now and again, punctuating my accusing speech with small, defending syllables. When I finished, Freddie tilted his chin upward, aiming a cutting stare at Carly- not unkind, but fairly serious. I'm not sure I liked it.

"Do you really like him?" Freddie asked. The corners of Carly's mouth twitched.

"Yeah," she said in the innocent, dreamy tone that Freddie used to melt over.

"Do you trust him?"

"I think so," Carly replied with a slight frown. "Wow, you're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Freddie continued without answering her question (or statement, I couldn't tell). "So, if I confronted Jake tomorrow about the call and texts Sam got, what do you think he'd do?"

Carly's expression darkened. "I don't know, and don't want to find out. Don't… Don't talk to him about it, okay? We've been talking--"

"So, you think he'd respond in a way that'd change your perception of him," Freddie cut in. Carly fell silent.

"…Maybe," she admitted after a moment's pondering. "Still, it might just be a huge misunderstanding, Mike probably imitated Jake's voice or something."

"Come _on!_" Freddie said impatiently. His torso had stiffened, leaving him with an extremely principal-like form- sitting straight up, hands folded in his lap, reprimanding a timid student for their stupidity. I felt like confessing to shoving someone into the cafeteria freezer. "You _know_ Jake's a rotten liar, why are you sticking up for him? You're so much better than him!"

"He's not all bad!" Carly said meekly. "Jake's sweet, I just don't believe he'd so something like this."

"Check Sam's phone," Freddie said icily. "That should clear up any confusion."

"You're not going to fight him, are you?" Carly asked. When he remained quiet, she looked ready to cry. I shuffled from foot to foot, ashamed I had made the two talk. Sure, some conversation was in order, but this was painful to watch.

"It _is_ kind of a stupid idea," I added. Both Freddie and Carly turned to me in surprise, as though they had forgotten I was there. This heightened my embarrassment, though not as much as what came out of Freddie's mouth two seconds later.

"I think it'd be good if you left, Sam," he said. "Carly and I sorta need to discuss… I dunno."

He half-shrugged. My temper flared.

"I'm part of this as much as you two are," I said angrily. Carly wrung her hands.

"You wanted me to talk to Freddie," she said in a voice that suggested she was attempting to soothe an aggravated tiger. "Well, I am. Let us work whatever we need to out. I'll tell you every word later."

Her smile was kind, if tense. I gave a curt nod before glancing at Freddie; he didn't look back.

I left telling myself repeatedly that Freddie wouldn't remain in his state of stony seriousness for much longer, but I couldn't help slamming the door a bit harder than I should have.

~*~

I barely remembered the rest of Sunday. It didn't pass quickly by any stretch of the word, but I was knee-deep in thought the entire time. Nothing gravely important, even, just worries and wonders and- most frequently- annoyed little snippets about Freddie and Jake. They possessed my mind, angering me for different reasons.

When nightfall came, I trudged home from wherever I had been prior to that and crawled into bed. No amount of cheesy (hammy?) poetry could remove me from the desolate place I had sunken into. The worst part was that I wasn't even looking forward to Monday; I was stuck in a very boring state of mind where you regard the world with a pessimistic attitude, suffering through the day and groaning at the thought of another one. Sleep couldn't come fast enough.

~*~

I was awoken by the sound of a canned ring tone. It was ten times louder than it should have been to my sensitive, sleepy ears, and I lay there, confused and tired, before grappling for the phone on my night table.

Damn. I hadn't caught the person in time. My phone had stopped playing elevator music, lying silent in the palm of my hand. Opening the phone, the message 'Eight Missed Calls' pulsed. I blinked. Eight?

My phone rang again. I answered the call immediately, half a ring into the cheery music. "Hello?" I said, glancing at the time. 6:02. I had little under an hour to get ready for school, more than enough time.

"Thank god you picked up!" Carly said. Her voice wavered- must've been the faulty connection.

"What's up? Did you call eight times?"

"Nine, counting this one."

"'Kay… Something tells me you didn't call to comment on the weather."

"You're right there," she said with a tired laugh. "Freddie… he's still going to fight Jake."

I shifted on the bed, resting on an elbow. "What? Why?"

"Because he's a stupid tomato, that's why!" she half-shrieked.

"A stupid… tomato."

"I'm tired, don't question my insults!"

"Got it. What happened after I left? You promised me details." My mind was running a mental sweep of the portion of last night's conversation that I had caught, trying to find clues as to what could have happened next.

"Well, we talked for a while," Carly said. "Basic stuff. I tried to defend Jake, and Freddie got pretty pissed off. I kept telling him that I was incredibly sorry that Jake had acted so jerkish, but I needed to speak to him on Monday, and that he should just hold off on the whole fighting thing. Freddie started yelling about how idiotic I was acting, how I'd always be taken advantage of."

"Intense."

"Mhm. I almost felt honored- he cared so much! Freddie's so great."

"Agreed. Continue." I wasn't in the mood to discuss Freddie's greatness. I was in the mood to discuss Freddie's crazy intentions.

"After a while, I told him he was screaming, and he quieted down. I said that I'd talk to Jake. He told me Jake would lie, like he always did. He said he was tired of that- what was it?- that bleach-blonde wanna-be player being a tyrant in our school, and that he wanted to teach him a lesson. I told him he couldn't, it was a huge mistake, blah blah blah."

"And he said… what, exactly?"

"That if I didn't dump him, he'd break Jake's face or die trying."

"Pfft. Drama queen."

"Tell me about it. Then Freddie held out his phone and told me to call Jake; I debated for a moment and finally refused. The look Freddie gave me could've killed. He said 'that's that' and made me leave."

"Before we continue," I said, "I'd like to advise you never to become a storyteller."

"Suggestion noted. So, what do we do?"

"We meet him first thing this morning and make him change his mind," I said simply, more lighthearted than I felt. "Then you break up with that bleach-blonde wanna-be player."

"See you in an hour," Carly said wryly. "And I wouldn't count on that second part."

"Stupid tomato."

"Sor-ry, would you prefer I call Freddie something a bit more… offensive?"

"Girl, you can't swear for your life."

Her next sentence proved me quite wrong. I was in shock for a moment.

"Okay, but only to save your life," I said shakily. She laughed before hanging up.

I grinned absentmindedly, loving the knowledge that Carly and I weren't fighting. It was a brilliant feeling, even if the fight had only lasted a day-ish.

Somehow I fell asleep again, phone in hand. Half an hour later I was woken up by my alarm clock, which I had set to an absurdly late time. Muttering a curse under my breath, I jumped up, changing, brushing, washing and readying fast as humanely possible. Soon me and my painfully heavy backpack were out the door.

I caught the bus just in time. The driver eyed me warily, probably checking for stink bombs or rotten eggs. I didn't blame him for worrying.

The ride was short, but gave me just enough time to realize that I had forgotten my science notebook at home. I pressed a hand against the window, peering in the direction of my trailer. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Carly was waiting outside the school, by the bike racks. She smiled as I raced towards her, though my arrival did nothing to ease the anxiousness on her face. We exchanged greetings.

"Where's--"

"Our little tomato?" she said, glancing around. I pursed my lips.

"Let's not make this a thing, okay?"

She laughed. "Gotcha. _Freddie_ is nowhere to be seen, unless you've seen him."

"Nope," I said. "I have Social Studies first, he's not in it. You?"

"Math," she said glumly. "Boring, Freddie-less math."

We entered the school, still searching for Freddie vigorously. Carly asked a few passing friends; none of them had seen him.

"We'll find him sooner or later," I assured her. "It's not that big of a school."

She didn't reply, features clouding with conflicting emotions, none of them pleasant.

"Carls…?"

"Jake," she said, pointing. Yep, there he was, leaning against a set of lockers looking far too cool for his own good.

"Kill him," I advised. "Now. While you have a clear shot."

"I like my boyfriends alive," she said, the teensiest bit affronted. I backed off.

The bell rang, signifying that both of us were late for class. Exchanging a parting look of worry, we headed our separate ways.

~*~

A period passed. Two. Three. Freddie was absent in all of them; I wish we had more classes together. My science teacher yelled at me for forgetting my binder. I stared blankly back at him, nodding and apologizing when necessary. In gym, I was pelted by foam balls and screamed at by our red-faced, always-seething-with-nonsensical-anger coach. It didn't matter. I could barely hear him.

My fourth period was, thankfully, English, which Freddie and I shared. I almost skipped towards the classroom, ready to tell Freddie off for an appropriately long time.

When I entered the class, door lined with the remainders of past assignments, I scanned the room for Freddie; he was up by the teachers' desk, talking quietly to Mrs. Wolffe while the rest of the class chattered cheerfully. I took my seat, eyes locked on the back of Freddie's head. Our seats had changed last week; he sat diagonal to me. It wasn't ideal for passing notes, but I could manage.

"Today, class, we discuss Unit 16 of your vocab books. Take them out," Mrs. Wolffe chirped from the front of the room, though it was hardly necessary. The good kids had their books already on their desks, and the rest of us had started reaching for ours as soon as the word 'Vocab' had left her mouth.

I flipped to Unit 16, praying I had actually done the work. Thankfully, I had. Every problem involving grammatical errors had been righted by my scribbled corrections, and that seemed to be all this unit consisted of.

Mrs. Wolffe paraded up and down the rows, bending over books to inspect our work. I ripped a piece of scrap paper off as quietly as I could. Freddie's head was bent; I longed for him to jump up on his desk and shout, "I WILL NOT FIGHT!" just to ease some of my panic. I doubted he would.

I wrote: r u going to fight? on the scrap before tapping the kid next to me and whispering instructions. She nodded, taking the paper and tossing it to Freddie's desk. Smooth.

He read it, scribbled something on the back, and passed it back with an old maneuver- drop your pencil, reach down to grab it, shove the note towards the desired person. I picked it up.

_Yes. I'm doing this for you and Carls. Don't complain._

His message had to curve into the corner of the note. I shoved the paper into a pocket.

"Samantha!"

"Wha?" I turned to find Mrs. Wolffe glaring at me.

"I said, open your book." Oh.

She checked the four pages of problems before moving on to the next kid. I got lucky.

I chanced another note, scribbling, _Don't_. It wasn't a long or even slightly coherent message, but I had to begin my protests somewhere.

This time I was caught. Mrs. Wolffe snatched the paper before it had left my hands; never outstretch you arm with a note when the teacher's walking by. She turned it over to see if my _Don't_ was the only word written. Finding nothing incriminating, she gave me a warning and moved up the row. Freddie swiveled in his seat to face me, mouthing, _Don't try_. I quirked an eyebrow.

The period ended. I quickly sidestepped in front of Freddie's desk, blocking his only exist.

"You're not challenging Jake," I said with finality. "If you throw a punch, he'll throw one back, and you know it. You also know that said punch could break quite a few of your pearly whites, and if you don't know this, you'll find out soon enough."

He stared up at me blankly. "I have to. I can't just stand there and watch this creep hurt Carly."

"You could send him a threatening letter signed in your own blood."

I allowed Freddie to stand, walking with him to the door and out into the hall. I had science; who knows what he had.

"Too simple," he said with his half smile. "I'm trying to fight conformity."

"Hey." I stopped us both against a row of lockers, blocking several kids' access to their books. I didn't care. "Promise me you won't fight."

"We've been over this before. I'm fighting."

"Okay, well, promise me you'll try not to fight."

"I'm not promising you anything. I need to get to math."

"Promise you'll try to try to try to try?"

"That made no sense. No."

He made to leave. I grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging in. Must've been painful- a short prelude to his beating.

"Humiliation. Pain. Defeat. Do these words mean anything to you?" I said exasperatedly.

His expression deepened. "I'll experience them all," he said defiantly. "If it means I earn a bit of respect for trying, and maybe- just maybe- teach you and Carly about picking guys."

He removed my fingers from his shoulder, stalking away like a freaking superhero. "But I picked _you_!" I called after him. "I was using Jake- does that mean you're gonna pick a fight with me?"

It was a wonder Freddie even heard me, though he tossed a smirk over his shoulder just to let me know he had.

~*~

My remaining class were infinitely boring. Boring, but so, so long; each second ticked by leisurely, enjoying itself thoroughly by making me wait for time to pass. The hands of the clocks in each class might as well have been laughing at me.

Finally, my last period of the day rolled around. I waited for it to end so I could tackle Freddie, secure him in handcuffs, and keep him in a padded room until he got his head on straight.

Concocting how to precisely carry this feat out took up most of the class. I daydreamed while the teacher droned on and on; I even forgot which class I was in.

The bell rang. I stared, open mouthed, at the speaker blasting the noise for a moment, unable to believe it. The day was over. Done. Finished. And so was Freddie, if I didn't stop him.

I scrambled from the class, leaving a few notebooks behind. The teacher called after me, pointing angrily to the notebooks sitting sadly under my desk; I resisted the urge to scream, "My boyfriend's gonna DIE!" in her direction, as this would probably freak out a few people around me.

The crowd in each hallway thinned as kids assembled their backpacks and went home. I envied them, though their absence gave me a clearer view of where Freddie might be.

Another hallway was officially Freddie-less. I groaned, swiftly jogging into another section of the school.

"Sam!"

I turned, almost colliding with a frantic Carly.

"What's--"

"He's doing it, I tried to stop him but it was way too late, Jake's already pissed and he's going to absolutely _die_--"

"You're scaring me, Carls," I said, attempting to calm her down. No such luck.

"Come on!" Carly began dragging me down the hall, breaking into a flat run when I found my balance.

_Please don't let him do this_, I pleaded mentally. _Please, please, please_.

"They went outside," Carly said breathlessly, pulling me through the double doors. Sunlight blinded me for a moment. "They should be here- oh _no_…"

_Oh no_ indeed. We raced across the grass, a good ways away from the school to find an enormous group of people standing in a half-circle, cheering. They weren't cheering mindlessly, though- some pulled at their hair, mouthing, "No! Go, go!" Some punched the hair, screaming- oh, God- screaming, "Finish him!"

Carly and I looked at each other in horror. She bit her lip, gesturing with a nod to get closer. We might as well, now.

The two of us muscled our way closer to the sport, eager and terrified to see if it was indeed what we believed it was. I caught a glimpse, but couldn't tell any faces. The crowd of constantly flailing spectators was too thick.

"Freddie!" Carly shouted, voice tinged with dismay, seeing something I couldn't. My stomach turned to ice. I was chilled through and through.

"Move!" I screamed at the guy standing closest to me. He glared at me for half a moment before returning his eyes to the spectacle. This was just entertainment for him.

A sock full of butter would have been so useful right about now. Instead, I used my foot, kicking the kid's shin as hard as I could. He crumpled.

With the tall guy out of the way, there were just two people in front of me blocking the view. A cry of pain sounded from somewhere ahead of me; three fourths of the circle roared triumphantly.

I shoved. I pushed. I might have even bitten. All I know was that the two people in front of me scattered, and I witnessed something the whole world could have done without.

~*~

It was Jake and Freddie, all right. Do I even have to tell you who was winning? Who do you think?

Freddie lay panting on the ground, one eye blackened, his lip bloodied, favoring his left leg. His expression was no longer defiant and intuitive; it was terrified, and mostly filled up with anguish.

Jake towered over him, breathing heavily but certainly better off than the brave nerd below him. He had a flowering bruise on the side of a cheekbone; my heart swelled with pride. Little Freddie could throw a punch after all. His knuckles were cut; I hoped that they weren't just hurt from destroying Freddie. He took a step closer to his prey. Freddie flinched.

"You want more?" Jake shouted. It was barely audible over the crowd's din. Freddie jumped to his feet, swaying but upright. Back down, you idiot!

Freddie bent slightly, head inclining. He was faking. I knew; I had seen him use this tactic all the years I used him as a literal and verbal punching bag. Freddie pretends he's worse off than he is, to get out of a tight spot. Maybe this meant his retirement from the fighting business.

Three seconds after this happy thought pierced all the gloom, Freddie dove at Jake, bringing them both to the ground. Jake protected his face with his hands as Freddie tried his best to clobber the bigger boy. His fists flew; they must've hurt, even if they barely glanced off Jake's body.

The half circle of people went wild. A good twist to an already interesting fight always sparked further attraction. The people next to me called gibberish, lusting for violence.

Freddie was shouting something. I couldn't hear; no one could. No one except Jake. His eyes narrowed behind his hands as he fought to weaken Freddie's grip.

Jake delivered a devastating uppercut in the middle of Freddie's mysterious lecture; I cried out as Freddie fell backwards, mouth open in surprise. He struggled for breath as Jake's fist had knocked all he had from his lungs.

Jake aped around the makeshift ring, pandering to the crowd while Freddie collected himself. A girl yelled, "Get him!" I sent her invisible mind daggers.

Freddie wasn't faking now. He really was tired, body covered in bruises and cuts. Jake showed him no mercy this time; his job was to give the people what they wanted. I pressed against the kids who had sidestepped in front of me, not cutting off my view but blocking me from jumping into the fight.

Jake dragged Freddie upright. This time, I heard as Jake shouted about how Freddie had started this thing, wasn't he gonna finish it? Freddie slammed the whole of his weight against Jake, failing to knock him over again but succeeding in bruising Jake's ribs. In a fury, Jake began delivering a series of brutal punches to Freddie's gut. Didn't the teachers hear this? Why wasn't anyone stopping them?

"Jake!" Carly shouted repeatedly. I glanced at her; Carly's eyes were ablaze, seeing her boyfriend in a new and unflattering light. She grasped my hand briefly, squeezing it before returning to the task of getting Jake's attention. It would never work.

Freddie was speaking again. I don't know how he found the air to talk, but he did, punching Jake ninja-style between the eyes. Well, it looked ninja-like to me. Jake gritted his teeth, roaring as he came at Freddie again. A scare tactic. Pathetic, really.

Freddie grabbed at Jake's hair, dodging poorly aimed blows (though some caught him, leaving nasty marks). I realized I was crying; not so much that the waterworks really flooded, but a few tears made it down my face. They were quickly wiped away. It hurt, to see Freddie injured intentionally by someone I had liked.

Jake threw Freddie to the ground; I winced, pushing harder on the person restraining me. He lost his step, actually setting foot beyond the invisible barrier between stage and crowd for a moment. Jake kicked Freddie's side like an abusive dog owner. I detested him in that moment. So, so much. Luckily, Freddie caught Jake's foot; not upending him like I would have, but holding him in that awkward position, breathing raggedly and keeping his gaze.

"Okay," I saw Freddie mouth. Jake grinned, jerking back his foot and turning to the crowd with his arms raised high. They rushed him, surrounding the winner in an instant. I was released from the death grip of the five people that had been around me, free to clasp hands with Carly and worry.

The crowd thinned, having had their fun. I shoved as many of them as I could. Jake kicked Freddie a final time, a supercilious smile on his face, before turning to leave with his friends.

"Jake!" Carly shouted after him. Her voice was terribly sharp. He turned, grin fading. I left the two alone, rushing to Freddie's side.

"You stupid, stupid tomato!" I hissed, getting to my knees. He looked so much worse up close.

"What?" God, his voice was _hoarse_. How had he managed to even bruise his voice?

"I- I mean idiot. You're an idiot. Probably the biggest idiot who ever lived."

"I know," he said with a smile that obviously hurt him. Blood trickled from his mouth.

"I mean, what could you have possibly been thinking? That it would have been a good idea to coax a hyper-athletic jock to beat you up? You couldn't teach a flower a lesson, Fredward Benson! You're a camera-holding, tech-obsessive pretty boy, and if you ever forget that again, I'll teach it to you Jake style."

His shoulders sagged, either at my anger or at the increasing amount of pain he was in. Both were sufficiently annoying.

"I'm not going to be sweet about this," I said shortly. "You scared me half to death, you got yourself into this little tiff, and I'm ridiculously mad."

"I know."

Why did he have to sound so _weak_? His jean leg was soaked with blood; I noticed this and shuddered.

"Okay, how did he manage to actually cut you?" I demanded.

"There was glass…" Freddie trailed off, coughing.

"Moron!" I said through gritted teeth.

"Me or Jake?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know. I don't care. Hold on."

I retrieved my phone from its carrier on my backpack. Freddie lay there, looking about three seconds away from the big golden gates.

"I'm going to get the nurse," I said quietly. "I'll call your mom too."

He groaned at the mention of his mother. "She'll kill me," he muttered.

"You're already dead. When you get better, I'm coming after you with a baseball bat for scaring me like that."

He grinned. I grinned back, just for a moment, before rushing off to get the nurse. He was such an idiot. I loved him so much.


	12. Chapter 11

It didn't take that long to catch the nurse's attention. She was just getting ready to leave for the day; I almost ran into her while hurriedly entering the school. All it took was one garbled "FreddieBenson'sreallyhurtoutsidecomequick," for her to let me lead her back to the bleeding boy lying on the grass like a war hero.

The nurse called an ambulance. An _ambulance_. I shivered at the word, not daring to accept the fact that Freddie was as banged up as he was. As the nurse tended to Freddie's less serious injuries, I took out my phone, regarding it as one would an agitated grizzly bear. It was my job- my duty- to call Mrs. Benson and let her know the news.

I glanced at Freddie for support; his eyes were closed, mouth set in frustration. Or pain. I couldn't tell. I let out a long, melodramatic sigh. He cracked an eye open.

"Something wrong?" Freddie said as loud as his bruised voice box permitted. I tossed him a rehearsed look of disapproval.

"No. Just don't want to call your mom, that's all," I said. "She'll find some way to blame me, or… whatever. I'll call, get it over with."

"'Kay," Freddie sighed. He wasn't exactly helping, though he looked so very pathetic, I just barely stopped myself from uttering a comforting word. I had to remind myself that I was pissed at him.

The phone was ringing. I didn't remember dialing. Quickly, I pressed the phone to my ear, adjusting the speaker and clearing my throat.

"Hello?" Mrs. Benson always answered the phone as though she expected the caller to inform her the world had ended.

"Hi, Mrs. Benson? It's Sam," I said as politely as I could.

"Oh, Sam. Hi. Is anything wrong?"

"Well, yes." A sharp intake of breath on the other end. "You see… Freddie was in a fight," I said carefully. All hell broke loose.

"Oh, my god! Is he all right? What happened? Does he have his disinfectant spray? Even the smallest cut could lead to a life-threatening infection," she whined. I kicked a pine cone.

"He's pretty roughed up. Sorry," I added quickly. You could never apologize too much with this woman.

"What happened?" God, I think she growled at me.

"Well…" I didn't want to tell her the truth. I didn't even know how to tell her the truth. Lying wouldn't work; she'd find out eventually. So I'd water down the facts. "The other kid's name was Jake; I came outside after school and the two of them were going at it. Freddie's really hurt, the nurse called an ambulance, he's going to be taken to the hospital pronto. Do you know where the hospital is?"

"Of course," she snapped. "Sam… why were they fighting?"

I hated direct questions. It made it harder to lie. "They had a disagreement," I said smartly. "I have to go, Mrs. Benson. Bye."

I closed the phone, still hearing her desperate chattering. The ambulance had pulled into the school parking lot; Freddie was already inside. I had missed a lot.

"Wait!" I shouted as the driver made to start the vehicle. Freddie glanced up from the stretcher he had been forced onto.

"She needs to come," he said firmly to the guy bandaging his leg. Said guy looked uneasy.

"Please? I'm a friend," I begged. He motioned for me to jump in the back. I hopped on, scrambling to Freddie's side and blocking the man's access to various other inflictions.

"Why does he need to go to the hospital?" I asked as the man struggled to reach Freddie. I took up a lot of space.

I received a stock answer, informing me how, surprisingly enough, Freddie was hurt. I had been looking for something a bit more specific, as in why Freddie's injuries were serious enough to require a trip to the hospital. His response? "Could you get out of the way, little girl?"

Anger boiled beneath my skin. The rational part of my brain ran for its life and I grabbed the man's wrist, doing my best to tower over a guy a foot taller than me.

"What--"

He was pissed, I could tell. And seriously reconsidering letting me ride in the ambulance. Well, too late, jerk.

"Sam!" Freddie groaned. I ignored him.

"Hey. Why does this boy need to go to the hospital?" I asked. "I want specifics."

"His leg's pretty torn up," the man said, words rushing over themselves. "It's nothing deathly serious, but trained professionals should be able to patch him up quicker than BandAids and home remedies. Now get out of my way."

I obeyed, still feeling the tiniest bit ripped off. But if I complained any further, I'd probably be thrown headfirst from the vehicle at top speed, and then _I'd_ have to go to the hospital, which would be awkward.

When we arrived at the hospital, the transition from ambulance to room became a sea of confusion. I struggled to keep up with the guys wheeling Freddie inside, from hall to hall, up an inclination to a series of identical rooms. I was finally asked to sit in the waiting room, and I obliged, after some unpleasantness (which involved me stepping forcefully on a doctor's foot and a boatload of screaming).

I spent the next half hour pouring over different magazines, eyes sliding in and out of focus. I think I might have sprained my neck from jerking my head up every five seconds to see if a nurse was coming to retrieve me. The woman sitting opposite me kept throwing scowls in my direction, as though it was my fault her loved one was injured and she was forced to read twenty year old magazines.

"Sam?" a female voice called. I glanced up, feeling my neck whine in protest. A woman clad in white was standing just outside the waiting room, holding a clipboard.

"Yeah?"

"Freddie Benson's asked to see you. He's right this way," she said with a kind smile. I smiled back tightly.

Following the nurse was difficult; I constantly had to dodge either some sick guy being wheeled in on a stretcher, or a cluster of doctors scurrying towards a room. The nurse had probably learned to avoid the chaos by now. She moved a lot faster than I did.

"Right through here," the nurse said, her smile never wavering. She was like a Barbie. I got the chills just looking at her.

Freddie looked a whole lot better. His cut leg had been tended to, wrapped securely in bandages. His eyes were closed; I hoped he wasn't asleep.

"Freddie," the nurse said softly. "Your friend is here to see you."

Freddie's eyes flickered open. They rolled for a moment, finding themselves, before focusing on me. He grinned.

"You actually stayed!" he said in disbelief. I stalked forward, sitting on the edge of his bed and most likely crushing his good leg.

"Yeah. Duh."

"What, no sympathy?" Freddie pouted. I slapped his side; he winced, causing the nurse to eye me warily.

"I thought I'd made it quite clear you'd get no sympathy from me," I said firmly. "But… I'm glad you're not dead. Yet. Where's your mom?"

Freddie gaped. "Thanks a lot! And my mom's not here yet."

"I'll take off when she does," I decided.

"Stay 'till then. I need the support."

"Of course you do. So, now that you're not gasping on the ground, do you want to tell me what you did to piss off Jake?"

"I sort of… screamed that he was a cheating jerk," Freddie said sheepishly, shrinking into the bed. "Don't hurt me!" he added at my expression, which must have been murderous.

"Why are you such an idiot?" I demanded. He shrugged. The conversation died, and I sat there, at the end of his bed, gritting my teeth and waiting for one of us to speak again.

"Uh, Sam?" he uttered after a few minutes. I did my best to keep my stare cold.

"Yeah?"

"You're sitting on my leg. Ow. _Ow_."

"Sorry, sorry," I jumped from the bed, walking around it to stop by his head. "I _am_ glad you're not dead."

"Coming from you, that's pretty sweet," he admitted. "Unless you're only glad because this means you get to finish me off yourself."

I rolled my eyes. "Please! If I killed you now, Carly wouldn't get to have any of the fun when you come back to school."

"My mom'll be here soon," Freddie reminded me. "If you don't kill me, she will. So, by all means, go ahead."

My retort was cut off by a shrill voice emanating from the hall.

"Freddie? Where's Freddie? Hello, I'm looking for Freddie Benson-- oh, Freddie!"

Mrs. Benson scurried into the room, which was basically my queue to leave. I stood, expecting some unpleasantness from Mrs. Benson, but she completely ignored me. Her eyes sought Freddie and Freddie alone.

I crept from the room, wincing as the blossoming conversation reached my ears. Mrs. Benson was so _loud_, screeching about her little boy and blaming the incident on everyone from our school's health teacher to MTV. Apparently, everything in the world has been influencing Freddie negatively except for his mother.

"And where exactly do you think you're going, young lady?"

I turned slowly, unable to believe that anyone could address me as 'young lady'. There was no doubt about it, Mrs. Benson was talking to me; it was difficult to miss the glare.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" She sounded close to tears. "Why didn't you try to stop him, or--"

"_Mom!_" Freddie broke in, exasperated. "Sam, go get something to eat."

"On it."

This time, I made it out of the room, though not before hearing, "She's an enabler, you know that? Your poor hormonal teenage mind spits out these dreadful ideas, and she helps you do things like pick a fight!" Freddie's response was lost on me.

"Hey, where can I get food?" I called to the nearest nurse. Real polite.

"The cafeteria's on the first floor, just take the elevator and you'll be there," she said absentmindedly, focused on the clipboard secured between her fingers.

I sped towards the elevator without showing any form of gratitude to the nurse; I doubted she would've heard it.

As the lift slowly clanged towards the first floor, I turned my attention to my stomach and away from thoughts of Freddie's nutjob mother. As annoyed as I was, it was nothing a few (hundred) Fat Cakes wouldn't fix. I prayed the cafeteria served them.


	13. Chapter 12

The cafeteria was just as freakily clean as the rest of the building. Vending machines coated the walls, each displaying a different type of drink or packaged food. I wrinkled my nose, but now was no time to be picky- the food the cafeteria was actually _serving_ looked disgustingly healthy.

Hallelujah! Across the room, staring sadly out from behind their plastic prison sat Fat Cakes aplenty, stuffed in the same vending machine as some Hostess snack.

I might have actually shed a tear or two. It was a strangely beautiful sight, all those sugar-filled packs of deliciousness just waiting to be eaten.

And then I was by the machine, having no recollection of moving from my spot just inside the cafeteria. My hand pressed against the plastic, a sigh of contentment escaping my throat.

"Other people are hungry, young lady!" an old man standing behind me wheezed. I rounded on him.

"I'm savoring the moment, old dude!" I shouted. He crossed his arms, glaring at me from behind thick spectacles. Ooh, now I'm scared.

Well, savoring time was over. I was ready to get my hands on some Fat Cakes. Reaching into a pocket, I fished out- a button, a crumpled piece of paper, and something small and black that might or might not have been a raisin.

_Don't panic. There might be some cash in the other pocket- nope, not there either. Shirt pocket? I don't have a shirt pocket! Invisible flying bank? I wish!_

I was broke, and in desperate need of junk food. I searched my pockets again, willing a dollar bill to appear, even a single penny. No such luck.

"Hey, old dude," I said sweetly, turning to face the man currently burning a hole in the back of my head with his eyes, "would you mind lending a poor starved girl some money?"

"My name's Marty!" Marty shouted. Apparently, Marty was partially deaf- or wanted to cause me permanent ear damage.

"Okay," I said carefully. "Listen, Marty, I'm really hungry--"

Marty seemed to have forgotten my existence. Humming something that sounded suspiciously like "Single Ladies", he shouldered me aside and approached the vending machine, slipping in a bill and pressing A2. A Fat Cake dropped into the pickup slot. Marty, looking very pleased with himself, scooped up the cake- _my_ cake- and began to walk away.

"Aw, c'mon!" I yelled, throwing up my hands. "Mama needs her--"

"Miss, please, you're causing a scene," a twenty-something guy with bleach-blonde hair said quietly, his hand on my shoulder.

"But-- he took my--"

The man shot me a warning glance. I sighed, and headed towards the elevators. Maybe Freddie's mother would be kind for once and lend me a dollar. Or, better yet, Freddie's room might supply some sort of snack for the resident.

Just as the elevator's doors were about to close, a woman stepped swiftly inside. I groaned audibly; she glared. The entire hospital would hate me by the end of the day.

I stepped on to Freddie's floor, the incredibly annoying elevator music playing in my head. Freddie's room-- what was the number? It had flown right out of my head. 203? 205? I would _not_ wander around this godforsaken hospital longer than I had to.

"Where's Freddie Benson?" I asked a nearby nurse. She consulted her chart- which every nurse seemed to be carrying, all clipped neatly on their clipboards- before saying, "207, down the hall and to your left."

"Thanks."

Ugh, it smelled like cleaning solvents and sick people. I'd never really smelled a sick person before, but I could use my imagination. Ah- 207. And there was Mrs. Benson's purse, screaming, _Open me, Sam! _

"So, can she come?" Freddie was pleading. I stayed just outside the door, not sure if I wanted to continue my habit of eavesdropping on these two; it usually led to hurt feelings all around. I could only see Mrs. Benson's back, but I guessed she had that worried look on her face, the one where her eyebrows were all scrunched with nervous concentration.

"I don't know, it's a family gathering, Bensons only."

"You said I could bring a friend!"

"Which was an attempt to get you to make more friends!"

"I have friends, I-- never mind. Can she come? Please? It'll be so boring without her, it always is."

"You take that back, Fredward Benson! The Benson family reunion is a sacred--"

"We talk. We eat."

"Oh, the family wouldn't like her!"

"_I_ like her! And I just explained why you should like her too."

"The fight--"

"Was my fault. And she tried to stop me! Mom…"

The word was stretched over at least five syllables. Freddie was an expert whiner.

Mrs. Benson tensed further, her shoulders covering most of her neck. "Oh… all right. But you have to get her to behave."

"She's not a wild dog, mom."

"Hey, what're we talkin' bout?" I asked loudly, stepping inside the room with my eyes locked on Mrs. Benson's purse.

"Hey," Freddie said, glancing at his mother. "Uh, did you eat?"

"Well, see, I was kinda hoping you could help me out," I said, moving closer to the bed. Mrs. Benson immediately took a step backwards, as though repelled by my presence. I was kind of repelled by hers as well, so things evened out.

"I need some air," Mrs. Benson announced. She left, tossing a very purposeful look over her shoulder at Freddie. I waved, smiling hugely.

"Okay, what was that about?" I demanded. "I heard something about inviting me somewhere."

"You were listening?" he said in disbelief.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Now tell me, or I'm taking your mom's purse and getting me some real food."

"Every year, the Benson family has this annual get-together," Freddie explained. I mimed retching. "Yeah, I know. I have to get all dressed up, with this striped shirt my mom loves--"

"Stripes. Ugh."

"So I visit with all my preppy cousins, and get analyzed by all these high-class aunts and uncles I don't know. The kids are allowed to bring friends, and, well…"

"You want me to go to your geeky family gathering?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"…Yeah," he admitted. "It would be so much more fun with you there, please?"

"Your… your mom hates me!" I said, exasperated. "Your family will hate me too!"

"But you hate my family!" Freddie said. "Why should it matter if they hate you? Just do it for me, okay?"

My fingers itched to grab the purse just inches away from me. "Let me think about it over a few dozen Fat Cakes, okay?"

"Sam…"

"Will I have to wear a dress? 'Cause the dance was an exception, I don't like being all girly."

"I know. Just… wear something nice. Act sophisticated."

"No way."

"Act pleasant."

I grabbed the purse, stuffing a few dollars into my pocket. "I'm telling her you did this."

"Act like Carly?"

I deflated. "That's who your mom wanted to come, huh."

"No!" he said at once. "You heard her, it was some excuse for me to make more friends, or whatever. Forget it."

"I'll go," I grumbled. "But this'll suck."

He smiled. "I know. But look on the bright side; you can make fun of me without restraint afterwards."

"That sounds like a plan," I grinned, heading for the door. "Back in a flash. You want anything? Too bad," I continued as he opened his mouth. "I'm hungry."

He set his jaw, rolling his eyes. And I walked towards the elevators for the second time, contemplating how exactly I'd disguise myself as a good girl for the Bensons.

************************************************************************

**Bout time I updated. Sorry this chappy isn't too long. But now you probably know why I named this story "Meet The Bensons". Love to you all! **


	14. Chapter 13

Freddie was released later that day, his leg taped up with gauze. Apart from that, he looked fine, though covered in fading cuts and bruises. Mrs. Benson had 'suggested', with a tight smile, that I go home after an hour or so; sitting in the corner of Freddie's room with my eight packages of Fat Cakes, I had refused, taking my sweet time in devouring my food. When I finished, she 'suggested' once again that I leave. I obliged, only to find reasons to stay around the hospital, lurking about the hallways and occasionally stopping by Freddie's room when Mrs. Benson stepped out.

I didn't especially feel like going home, and for sure I wasn't staying at the Bensons. What to do, what to do…

Carly picked up on the second ring. "Hello?" she said, sounding incredibly choked up.

"Hey! It's me."

"Sam," she whimpered. "You want to come over?"

"Slow down there, mind reader," I said. "I was about to ask if I could. How'd things go with--"

"Tell ya when you get here. Bye!"

Mrs. Benson honked her car horn obnoxiously. I rolled my eyes, returning my phone to its pocket and running for the car. At least I had a ride to Carly's.

"Change of plans," I said. "I'm going over Carly's."

Freddie, sitting in the front seat, turned to face me- the movement was obviously painful. "What did she say to Jake?"

"Jake?" Mrs. Benson interrupted. "The boy who hurt my little--"

"Yeah, him. Later," I said to Freddie. He bit his lip, unhappy with the answer, but faced forward without another word.

We rode the rest of the way in silence; apparently, Freddie knew better than the expose his mother to the kind of music he liked. Surely she would ban it from her household, and probably erase Freddie's iPod to boot.

I wrestled with twin emotions for the duration of the ride; my anger at Freddie's stupidity, and my infatuation with him screaming, "He needs a hug! Show him _some_ compassion!" If I left for Carly's without saying more than I had at the hospital- "I _am_ glad you're not dead"- I would feel guilty for the rest of the night. But I had said I wouldn't give him any sympathy, and I didn't want to cave on something like this.

We pulled into the Bushwell parking lot. Mrs. Benson tenderly helped Freddie from the car- though he needed no help in the first place- before marching for the doors. Freddie thankfully waited for me to exit the vehicle, and by the time we entered the apartment complex, Mrs. Benson was long gone up the stairs. Good. It gave us some alone time.

"So what's up with Carly and Jake?" Freddie asked as we stepped into the elevator, Lubert shrieking behind us about our dirty feet on his floor. The doors closed, and we were completely alone.

"Don't know," I said. "Carly sounded upset, though."

"Good. They probably broke up."

"'Probably'? If they didn't…"

Freddie shifted from leg to leg, easing the pain. "We'll see, I guess. Tell me tomorrow."

"'Kay," I sighed, leaning against the metal wall. Did it always take this long to get to Freddie's floor?

A few moments of silence passed. Freddie kept looking at me in sneaky little glances- I finally cracked, saying, "What?"

"You're just going to leave for the night, huh?" Freddie said with a rueful smile. "A hug? A friendly pat on the shoulder? Anything?"

_Ding!_ The elevator doors slid apart. "Come on, your mom'll get worried," I said. He half-limped down the hallway, though he hadn't limped before. Attention hog.

We stood between Carly's door and his. Both doors were open, but neither of us moved; he was still waiting for that sign of affection he was so sure I'd show. I folded my arms, half-smiling, half-smirking with an eyebrow raised.

"See you in school," he said. Still no movement.

"I forgot my backpack," I groaned. Not again. Freddie's eyes were pitying, though he laughed.

There was an awkward period of two or three seconds where neither one of us moved, though Freddie's hand was nearing the doorknob. _No, no, no,_ a part of me yelled. _Don't leave. I still haven't told you how much it hurt to see you lying there in the grass. _

The doorknob twisted. I broke.

Grabbing the front of Freddie's shirt, I pulled him into a kiss. His arms wrapped around my waist, and the contact felt nice.

I poured a lot into those minutes we spent against each other, communicating through touches. The fingers clenching the front of his shirt said, _I don't know if this relationship can last, but I'm hanging on to it anyway. _My free hand tousling his hair- _thanks for being there for me. _That hand moving down to Freddie's shoulder, clutching it, whispered, _watching you fight with Jake killed me. Don't do it again._ My lips pressed firmly against his murmured, _I've never, ever felt love like this, and I like it. _

Then there were the things I couldn't say nonverbally.

_I'm terrified I'll get rid of you completely someday, with all the stupid crap I do._

_I don't know how to be a girlfriend. We're like friends, but it's more than that. Am I enough? Am I doing something wrong?_

_I don't want to change, and I know you like me the way I am, but being who I am makes me feel like a jerk at the end of the day._

_My world is spinning right now. You're doing that. I love it._

We broke apart. I wondered what he had been trying to say in that kiss, if anything. I wondered if he had understood what I had said.

Then I saw his eyes, and I knew he had.

They _shone_, not just with happiness and the same fuzzy feeling coursing through my veins, but with understanding. Maybe he didn't get everything, but he got a lot, and that's all I asked.

"Bye," he said, reaching blindly for the door and finally getting it open. He was blushing furiously; it was adorable. When the door closed, I stayed put for a minute, blushing a little myself.

Oh. Right. Carly had to vent about Jake. Sappy moment's over.

I opened the Shay's door, calling, "Carly!" as I stepped inside and flopped on the couch.

"H-hey, you're here."

I turned at the sound of her voice. Carly jumped down the stairs, her face pink from crying with teardrops falling gently down her cheeks. She looked miserable, and I instantly felt all residual fuzzy feelings from my makeout session with Freddie evaporate.

"What did that bleach-blonde, wanna-be--"

I was cut off by the weight of Carly crushing my windpipes. She threw herself against me, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. I hugged back fiercely, feeling a pang of anger towards Jake at every little sob that escaped her.

"Come on, sit up," I urged her. "Ugh… I'm dying here, Carls."

"Sorry," she whimpered, sitting next to me and brushing a tear away.

"It's-- it's fine. Aw, Carly, what happened?"

"How's Freddie?" she sniffled, watery eyes searching for an answer.

I scanned the room for a box of tissues. Maybe she had already used them all. "He's okay- leg's kinda cut up, but it's fine."

"Good. Maybe he could come over? If he's feeling good enough."

Carly wanted both of her best friends right now, it was obvious. Who was I to deny a girl with such a sad puppy look her wish?

"His mom hates me even more now; could you go get him by yourself?" I asked. She nodded, wiping her eyes hastily on her sleeve.

Carly returned five minutes later with Freddie in tow.

"That was easy," I said, concentrating on keeping the blood from rising to my cheeks at the sight of Freddie. Carly managed a wan smile.

"Mrs. Benson was totally cool about it- I think she saw I had been crying. Whatever. So, you guys want to hear about Jake, or--"

"Yes," Freddie and I answered simultaneously. We glanced at each other and promptly looked away.

"Okay," Carly began, looking slightly confused at our embarrassment. "Uh, so, after the crowd thinned out I ran after Jake."

"I know," I cut in. "You looked furious."

"Yeah. I yelled at him for a while about a bunch of stuff- about how he was always lying to me, about the whole texting thing, and, duh, about beating Freddie like a sack of really weak potatoes."

"Hey!"

"You know it's true. So, Jake said how Freddie had started the fight, and it really wasn't his fault; he apologized for everything else, though."

"He admitted he texted me?" I asked, surprised.

"Yep," Carly said. "But he wouldn't go into any more detail. We talked for a really long time--"

"About what?" Freddie demanded. "Didn't you just dump him and leave?"

Carly became quiet. Freddie and I exchanged horrified looks.

"You… didn't break up with him?" I said weakly.

"I did!" Carly said quickly. I released a tense breath. "But… I hate how much I like him, I really do! He looks at me with those soft eyes and I forget how angry I am. I dumped him, but he asked if we could talk over the next few days and work things out."

"And you said yes?" Freddie sighed. Carly's eyes were now overly bright; I prayed she wouldn't start crying again.

"I said no… he started yelling about how I was completely unfair and wouldn't give him a chance."

"You gave him a chance, he blew it!"

"I know! I left, but I feel so _terrible_ you have no idea," she wailed. Freddie and I both extended an arm to wrap around her shoulders. "I still like him, I wish I didn't, because I also hate him, and _he won't stop calling me_--"

"He's calling you?" Freddie interrupted. "That's practically harassment! Just block the number!"

"I want to talk to him," Carly revealed with a sob. "You'll both hate me, but I can't get over this."

"We don't hate you," Freddie said.

I squeezed her shoulder. "How could we? Who would feed me if I stopped coming over?"

"Freddie," she mumbled, glancing sideways at me. "You two are so happy… you don't need me."

Carly was so vulnerable at the moment, so confused and worried about everything- I had expected that. I hadn't expected her to develop the same fear I had had, wondering if my two best friends would abandon me now that they had each other in a greater sense.

"You're crazy," I said at once. "I couldn't survive with just Freddie; his nerdiness would drive me insane. I need at least one cool friend."

She grinned; the sight was warming.

"We're not going to stop being your friends just 'cause we're going out," Freddie said. "Have you been worrying about that since, like, the dance?"

Carly shrugged, shoulders rising and falling under my arm and dislodging my grip slightly. "It's been in the back of my mind for a while. Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine!" I said as tears budded in the corners of her eyes. "Everything's _fine_. You're making a big deal out of a bunch of little things. You dumped Jake, and if you really want to work things out with him, you can try." I grimaced. "I'll admit, I wish you wouldn't, but if you really, really think he's an okay guy…"

"But he's not!" Freddie said. "Carly- he's a liar, cheater, overall jerk. You can't possibly--"

"But she does," I reminded him firmly. He swallowed his words.

"I don't want to like him anymore," Carly sighed. But… you really wouldn't mind if I called him back?"

"Yeah, I'd mind. Freddie would mind too. But it's not like we can stop you. Or can we?" I said mischievously. "Well, no, we can't."

"I feel like an idiot for wanting him back."

Freddie removed his arm from its place round Carly's shoulders. "Give it a couple days," he said. "See what happens. Find out how you feel with him gone. Maybe you'll like it."

"Maybe," she said, sinking deeper into the couch. "So… what's up with you guys?"

Freddie and I laughed; it felt natural. No, it felt better than natural, because 'natural' for many years had been the three of us talking with Freddie and me going after each other whenever we could. This was peaceful.

"Freddie's invited me to his family reunion," I said.

"Seriously? Whoa. Have fun," she snickered. Freddie adopted a hurt expression.

"They may be weird, but they're my family, and I love them," he said proudly.

"Really?"

"No, not really. I hate most of them, to tell you the truth."

"That makes two of us, and I haven't even met them yet."

"I can give you some clothes," Carly suggested. "Good girl clothes. I have this light green top that might work with your hair, it's the kind of thing a Benson might wear."

I pulled a face. "No!" I whined. "Don't make me look like one of them!"

"Them?" Freddie raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean. I'll… take a look at it, see if it's as bad as I think it'll be."

"Fine. But you're gonna wear it anyway."

"Carly--"

"No."

"But it's--"

"No!"

"Fine," I grumbled. "I'll wear whatever you devil children make me. But I won't like it."

Carly spared me an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

Her phone buzzed. "Low battery?" I guessed. Carly shrugged, taking out the phone and flipping it open. Her eyes widened; my stomach sank.

"Incoming call," she said. "Jake."

Freddie jumped from the couch as though electrocuted. "You want to be alone?"

"Yeah. Go. See ya tomorrow," Carly said distantly, distracted by the screen. Freddie ushered me from the apartment.

"I thought I was staying with her tonight!" I whined, watching the sliver of the apartment that could still be seen as the door swung closed. Carly spoke softly, her eyes hard.

"You'll go back in fifteen minutes," Freddie said. "Let her work it out, 'kay?"

"Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow, Benson."

He looked puzzled. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Go home!" I said, gesturing towards his apartment. "Mommy's probably waiting to give Freddie another tick bath."

"I don't wanna," he grumbled.

"Fine, be annoying."

We stood there for a moment. I wondered briefly if we would start making out again, which would have been fine by me, but Freddie's expression was clouded with worry. Not a good time to jump him again.

"You think she'll be okay?" he asked. "Carly's so sweet, she'll fall for anything he says…"

"You didn't see her face after Jake destroyed you," I said. He half-shrugged, completely unconvinced.

I sank to the floor, arms wrapping around my knees, back pressed against the door. Freddie mimicked the movement, though winced as his bad leg bent.

"I'll have to train you how to act around my family," Freddie said mildly.

"Seriously?"

"If you want to get through the day, sure," he said. "No PDAs- most of the Bensons feel that a couple should hold off from holding hands until marriage."

I giggled. "You're kidding. Tell me your kidding."

"I wish," Freddie sighed, no doubt reliving past family gatherings. "My mom isn't that bad, though."

"She _seems_ pretty bad," I admitted.

"You haven't met the rest of 'em. I'll give you a few pointers; tomorrow, maybe?"

"I should go check on Carly," I said. He gave me a condescending look.

"You just want to eavesdrop."

"…Yes."

He laughed; we both rose to our feet. "I should go, then?" Freddie said. "If you want to go and pester Carly?"

"If you don't mind being alone with your mom. She'll be sobbing the minute you go through the door."

"She wasn't that bad before," he said, glancing at the door. "I can manage."

I waved. "So long!"

He rolled his eyes, leaned forward to kiss me quickly, and disappeared behind the door. My lips tingled; I touched them with two fingers, a silly smile refusing to leave my mouth, before barging into the Shay's apartment and interrupting whatever deep conversation Carly was in the middle of.

**Abrupt ending ftw!… Yeah, sorry about that. I really wanted to end this chapter, and couldn't think of a satisfying way. **


	15. Chapter 14

**This chapter is dedicated to an anonymous commenter- Elle- who left me the best comment I've received in ages. It brightened my entire day, and my day needed brightening. Thanks, darling!**

The couch was empty as I entered the apartment- in fact, the entire room was completely devoid of Carly. The cushions were lopsided; one had even made it off the furniture, lying sadly on the floor.

"Hey, Carly?" I shouted. "Carly-o! Are you still talking to the loser? Did you tell him I say hi? Tell the loser I say hi!"

No response. I leapt up the stairs two at a time, never once considering that Carly might still want privacy. Too bad. I was curious.

Luckily, Carly's bedroom door was cracked open. I was about to burst in when I heard something that sounded suspiciously like speech.

"…What I _want_? You know what I want, Jake? I want you to stop calling me, and then maybe move to Switzerland, and get eaten by a bear… no, I don't know if there are bears in Switzerland, you want me to go check?… I was being sarcastic!"

I knocked gently on the door, successfully pushing it open with the slightest of taps. Carly's head snapped up, giving me a brief grin that didn't touch her eyes. Her cell phone was still glued to her ear, and Jake's voice spewed from the speaker.

"I have nothing against Switzerland and their hypothetical bears, will you drop it?" she shrieked. I stifled a laugh, taking a seat on the floor and trying to look like I wasn't listening. My eyes trailed over the walls, her desk, the contours of the ceiling- anywhere but Carly. She didn't seem to care.

"I have to go," she said, free hand clutching fistfuls of the sheet in annoyance. "Because I have a life, Jake. No- you know what? Don't call me later, I think we've talked enough. Could you _please_ leave me alone?"

Her phone snapped shut.

"So, how'd that go… whoa, Carls!" The anger had faded from her face, to be replaced with crushing sadness. Shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, she looked too depressed for me not to jump up on the bed like a disobedient puppy, my head at her shoulder.

"I don't know what his problem is," she said. "I tell him I want to end everything, and he just says, 'Whoa, babe, we can work this out'. I could've been off the phone ten minutes ago, but he sounded like he really, really wanted to keep the relationship going, and I can't tell if he's just a good actor or…"

"I'd guess actor," I said. Carly made a jerky movement that could barely pass for a nod.

"So… you want to help me get all girly and Benson-y for the nerd extravaganza?" I asked timidly. She sniffed once, wiped her eyes, and nodded, suddenly beaming.

"Yeah! Oh my God, this is going to be soo much fun. You'll look like a Benson in no time," she grinned.

I grimaced. "The things I do for that boy."

"It's love!" Carly said with a spark in her eye. "You'd do _a_nything for him."

"Let's not go too far…" I shoved Carly playfully, glad at least she hadn't completely broken down and started sobbing. I wasn't the best comforter.

"So, your outfit," Carly said thoughtfully. "I'm thinking the top I told you about earlier, and… oh, I don't know, maybe a skirt? Jeans would be offensive- don't ask me why, I know how these people think- and shorts? Please."

"Work your magic, girly-girl."

Carly sprang from the bed, twirling once before dashing to her closet and flinging open the doors. It was like a scene from a Disney princess movie. I stayed sitting, awkwardly watching Carly toss clothes on to the floor. A light green shirt fluttered to the ground; my god, it was _frilly_. What had I gotten myself into?

Carly turned to face me again, arms full of clothing. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.

"This top with this skirt," she said breathlessly, shoving two articles of clothing into my hands. "Try 'em on."

I was ushered into the bathroom; the door slammed shut, and Carly's giggling haunted my ears for minutes after she had gone. A ghost of a smile still lingered as I pulled the outfit on.

"Ready!" I shouted once the clothes had been thrown messily over my head. The shirt was a bit plain- a solid pink (light enough to make me want to puke) with intricate patterns lining the collar. I didn't dare look down. The skirt was layered, and I swore I had felt rhinestones.

Carly inspected me as I stepped gingerly into the hall. She circled me as I was a mannequin and she a fashion designer. But I was just a begrudging teenager trying to impress her boyfriend.

"Ugh," she said after a moment, pulling delicately at my sleeve. "I don't think so."

"It's pink!" I whined. "Get it off me!"

Carly chuckled, handing me a different outfit. I grumbled all the way into the bathroom again.

Outfits came and went. Each time I walked out for inspection, hair a little bit messier, Carly cocked her head to one side and voiced her disapproval. I groaned louder each time she sent me back into the makeshift changing room. One time I glanced in the mirror over the sink just to find a pink-faced girl with hair like a rat's nest. I forced myself to continue.

The pile of rejected clothing grew outside the bathroom door. In the hall, Carly collected all the outfits she disliked in a heap, until the clothes could reach my hip. It looked like a deformed art project.

"The green top," Carly said as I discarded yet another outfit. Carly held a light green shirt in her arms, sleeves puffed slightly. There was a frilly lining to the bottom. I kept the bile from rising in my throat.

"No. Don't make me." I shielded my eyes as if the sight blinded me (which it did, in a way). Carly chuckled, forcing the shirt into my hands.

"With… _this_ skirt," she murmured, choosing carefully from a neat pile of possibilities. The skirt in her hand- and now in mine, as she gave it to me and hurried me back into the bathroom- was knee-length and blackest of blacks. It looked like something I'd wear to a funeral. Of course, the Benson family gathering would effectively kill my brain; I would gladly wear the skirt to mourn the contents of my head.

Oh. No. Ew. I examined my reflection in the sink mirror; the two colors clashed dramatically, and not in the fun, creative way. It was disgusting.

"Well?" Carly called hopefully through the door.

I picked at a sleeve. "Not even for Freddie, Carls."

The door was opened. Carly took one look and wrinkled her nose.

"Yuck," she said.

"The yuckiest. Pick again? Something less… this?"

Carly dug in the stack of clothes for a minute, muttering, "Nope," and "Wrong," extensively. Finally, she pulled back. Clutched in her fist was a simple jean skirt, no patterns or accessories brightening the blue fabric. Though I wasn't happy with the choice, it was the absolute best I could've hoped for.

"Can the model eat now?" I whimpered, pulling a puppy face. Carly rolled her eyes, gesturing to the skirt and bathroom.

"One more. I think you can make it. There's pie in the fridge," she said tantalizingly. I perked up.

"Don't mess with a girl on an empty stomach," I warned her, curling my fingers into makeshift claws. "I'll bite you, I swear."

I was forced into the bathroom once again.

"This is friend abuse!" I hollered through the door. Faint giggles could be heard even over my grumbling.

So the jean skirt looked way better than the black skirt. And when I say way better, I mean _way better_. It complimented things about me that I didn't think could be complimented. It wasn't that I hadn't ever worn a skirt before, of course I had. But something about the combination of shirt (though the shirt was detested) and skirt was new and wonderful.

I could hear Carly pacing outside. No one paces like Carly.

"It looks good!" I shouted.

"Really? Come on out, let me see!"

I shyly slipped from the room, playing self-consciously with my hair while Carly took in the look. I felt like a Barbie doll, though maybe not in a terrible sense.

"Yes," Carly grinned after a minute. "Yeah. That works."

"You think so?" I said anxiously. "'Cause if it doesn't, I want to know now."

She nodded slowly, taking in the full effect while I stood and worried. "Once I do your hair and makeup, this'll look fantastic. Better than fantastic. Super-fantastic."

"You said there'd be pie," I reminded her. Carly's head bowed in solemn recognition of the fact.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Change first; you will _not_ get your Benson outfit dirty," Carly said sternly.

"'Kay, mom."

Carly swatted the back of my head as I entered the bathroom for the zillionth time. Saturday didn't seem that far away anymore.

*

The pie wasn't my favorite- apple cinnamon- but that didn't stop me from scarfing down three or four slices. Carly poked delicately at a single helping.

"So, what're we gonna do 'bout my hair?" I asked with a full mouth. I could tell Carly was trying very hard not to look grossed out.

"Oh, I don't know… you can't go wrong with a bun in that family, but a ponytail wouldn't be too bad if we made it tight."

I licked a streak of cinnamon from a fork tine. "So I can't just straighten my hair?" I confirmed. Carly gave me a look. "Okay, okay. Just checking."

"We can't go heavy on the makeup," she continued thoughtfully, her slice of pie abandoned as her eyes searched my facial features, mentally applying blush and eyeshadow. "Nothing too trampy, or else they'll call the police."

I laughed. She stayed silent.

"Dude, you're serious?" I shouldn't have looked so shocked. It wasn't all that surprising.

"Uh… never mind." Carly smiled briefly in reminiscence of some experience with the Bensons before saying, "I'd go with mascara and lip gloss- maybe blush, too."

"No eyeshadow?" I said.

"'Fraid not. Don't ask. Hey, it's pretty late, you want to just get some rest? We can think about this tomorrow. We have all week."

I finished the last of my pie. An empty dish is a sad sight to one who loves food as I do. "Oh, yeah. I forgot it's still Monday. Feels like Friday, doesn't it?"

Carly's quietness showed her agreement more than anything else could have. She, too, felt the stress from today and the weekend on her shoulders; it would be a long week.

*

I slept on the couch. It was far too comfortable for its own good; I never wanted to get up in the morning. Spencer returned late from an amateur art show and plopped down onto the couch around 11:00 with the intention of watching a little relaxing TV only to wake up a very tense and annoyed teenaged girl. I beat him over the head with a pillow for ten minutes before I realized that he was not, in fact, the evil Irish step-dancing caterpillar from my nightmare; merely Carly's innocent older brother. I bet he slept with one eye open the rest of the night.

"Get up," was the first thing I heard the next morning. It wasn't my favorite phrase, and Carly sounded downright miserable saying it. I groaned something along the lines of "Ughhh no I'm sleeping, go 'way". Carly was not amused. My blankets were pulled from my body. Morning cold. Was there anything worse?

Breakfast was a blur of delicious food that I couldn't fully appreciate in my sleepy state of mind. Carly and I made it to school somehow- Spencer drove us, maybe. I couldn't tell. I dozed on the way.

"Oh, hey, your backpack!" Carly gasped as she slammed her locker shut. I opened my own, pulling my backpack from the shallow depths.

"I left it here yesterday," I said sheepishly. "Whoops."

"So, your homework..."

"Well, duh, not done."

She leaned back against the row of metal, eyes darting about the hallway. Heat flushed her cheeks as she spotted Jake and she quickly looked away. "Here. Copy mine."

"You're the best!" I said gratefully. It took ten minutes to copy it all; I was skilled in this area.

Freddie arrived late, walking through the double doors just as the bell rang. We exchanged a look- him forcing a smile while I checked out the worst of his bruises, which had deepened overnight- before the three of us headed to homeroom.

The rest of the day passed by. Jake jeered at Freddie whenever he could with the help of his friends. Freddie ignored him, barely acknowledging Jake's presence; I assumed he was deflecting their insults easily, but every once and a while his annoyance and hurt shone through.

When not taunting Freddie, Jake found the time to beg Carly for her forgiveness, his eyes wide and innocent. Watching from a few feet away, I thought she might break, but Carly held strong, telling Jake coldly that she had to be elsewhere. Every time she crumbled the tiniest bit more. _Just make it to the end of the week,_ I thought. _Please, Carls. You can do it._

She did. Miraculously, my best friend held up against everything Jake threw at her, his snaking words and ridiculously gorgeous features. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday; she braved them all, each new challenge.

Every day I went over Carly's apartment to plan some part of my look for Saturday. My stomach fought up my throat at the thought, but it was best not to think about it in full. On Wednesday Carly agonized over my hair. I spent hours sitting by her bed while my head was viciously attacked by combs and ribbons and clips. Carly had said a simple bun would suffice, but this was her way to relieve the stress Jake caused, and I let her do it.

Thursday was makeup day. I looked like a clown after an hour or so; Carly barely bothered to clean my face in between test applications of mascara, blush and other things. She made me try on the outfit and position my hair just right to get the full effect.

Then Friday. I spent the whole day anticipating the hours to come, hours with Carly at my side just as nervous as I was. Don't hold me to it, but I'm pretty sure Carly was taking on my worries to suppress her own about Jake. She had refused to listen to a word the jerk said, but I knew she wanted to. I was proud of her.

Saturday morning rolled around fast. I had stayed over Carly's; she had insisted I went to bed at 9:00, to "make sure I got my beauty sleep". I stayed up till eleven anyway, partially from habit, partially from the butterflies in my stomach. Carly was up until all hours.

"Get up, get up, get up!" Carly called the next morning. I flung my arm out, finding Carly's head, My fingers tugged at her hair and ran over her features.

"Uh… Sam?"

"Looking for the snooze button," I grumbled. She laughed. I hadn't been kidding.

It was seven AM. Who in their right mind got up at seven on a weekend? It was madness. I expressed this view to Carly for hours as she forced me into the shower, out of the shower, into my outfit and into her chair so she could work her girly magic. I fell asleep more than once, flopping like a fish as Carly shook me awake.

"Seriously?" Carly muttered after my third upright nap. She had spent the past half hour straightening and brushing my hair; after my tresses were perfectly bland, she would twist them up into a bun. "C'mon, Sam, stay with me for like an hour."

"Too long. Let me sleep." Carly looked very threatening holding a straightening iron that was hot enough to leave me looking like a burn victim (well, technically I _would_ be a burn victim) if she so chose to use it for evil. I decided to shut up and let the girl do her thing.

I managed to remain sitting normally even as I dozed. The heat from the iron was comfortable if Carly kept it at a safe distance from my head; if she held it near my scalp long enough, I would mumble and swat at her hand before drifting again. My dreams (which were sort of daydreams) were spat from my addled, sleepy mind- none made any sense. One involved dancing turkeys taking over Manhattan, and that was the least interesting.

I'm not sure how long I sat in the chair with Carly beautifying my face. All I know is that after an oddly timeless amount of time, Carly's voice- sharp and frantic- rang through the air.

"Oh my God, look at the time! Sam, you gotta get up, Freddie's gonna be waiting. You look sexy, by the way- well, sexy in a Benson-appropriate kind of way."

My eyes flickered open. Carly was grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. It could've been another dream.

"Look at your pretty self!" Carly held up a mirror. I went to rub and eyes and was gently slapped. "Please don't ruin your makeup. I just destroyed hours of my life working on it."

Hours? I snatched the mirror and peered at the reflective glass.

I looked… nice. Not nice-nice; more like school-picture-nice. Maybe a bit better than that. My hair was in a tidy bun, not a strand out of place. My hair was actually shiny- it looked almost cute. My lips had been humbly glossed so that they glistened a pale and unthreatening pink. My tongue flicked out, tasting; mm. Strawberry. God bless Carly Shay.

My cheeks glowed with the thinnest layer of blush I'd ever seen applied. It was just barely noticeable, unlike my mascara, which was the only part of my new look that really stood out. It worked, though. Gave my eyes something extra.

"Freddie should be here any minute," Carly said anxiously. "The rest is up to you. Wow them with your refinement."

I smacked my lips, running a hand over my bun. "Refinement?"

"This is a big day," Carly said. She gestured for me to get up. I did with the utmost care. "You're meeting your boyfriend's entire family. They're not friendly. They're not going to like you. But you can keep 'em from hating you just by acting like your polar opposite, okay?"

The doorbell rang. It was that sound, so sure and direct, that caused my panic to escalate; I began hyperventilating.

"I can't," I whispered, grabbing Carly's collar. My nails had been painted a cheerful light blue that worked with the green shirt. The little touch heightened my terror. "Don't make me. Tell Freddie I died."

"Sam--"

"I was killed by a falling piano. It happens all the time."

She shoved me towards the door. "Go," Carly commanded. "It'll be fun!"

"What about Jake?" I asked. Her face fell. "You've been doing so well all week," I added quickly, still fighting admirably to get away from the front door, "I just don't want him to call and you to be all vulnerable."

"I'll call you if anything happens," she promised. "You'll need an excuse to get away from them for a minute or two."

Then I was forced into the hall, flying directly into a waiting Freddie Benson's arms. Carly winked before shutting the door.

"Hey," I said sullenly. Freddie made to kiss me; I pulled away. "Lip gloss," I explained.

"You look… wow," Freddie said, eyes widening. I punched him and sighed.

"Mhm. Let's go."

"My mom's out front," he said with a smile. We headed down the stairs; I tried to keep my hyperventilation under wraps, but I know Freddie noticed.

"You look nice, by the way," I said as we stepped out into the fresh air. Freddie wore a white shirt and tie with black dress pants; if the shirt wasn't tucked in, I would have meant it.

"Yeah. Sure." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "You ready for this?"

I pondered for a moment before flashing him a gigantic smile. "Not even close, darling," I said through clenched teeth, batting my eyelashes. Freddie grinned, took a deep breath, and helped me into his mother's car. It would be a long, long day, I predicted, if Mrs. Benson's brief glare was any indication. Hoo boy.


	16. Chapter 15

**This is a fairly short chapter, but a much longer one is on its way. I just wanted to give you guys **_**something**_**, as I've been taking so much time between chapters now. Enjoy!**

Freddie sat in the back with me- thank goodness. I longed to reach over, take his hand, maybe hug him for a couple hours to rid my stomach of butterflies, but Mrs. Benson's eyes kept darting to the rear view mirror (conveniently aimed at us). So the three of us sat in silence, my hands twisting in my lap.

After a few excruciating minutes, Freddie must have noticed my meager confidence flying out the window; he nonchalantly reached for my hand, ignoring his mother's little noise of disapproval. Sweat broke out on the nape of my neck. I prayed it wouldn't mess up my hair.

"This'll be fun," he promised. I glared at him (though gripped his hand in earnest). Liar. Freddie was such a liar. Why did I ever agree to do this?

We met eyes, and I remembered. Stupid heart.

Freddie's hand twitched against mine. I could tell he was trying his best not to pull away, as I was clutching his fingers as hard as I could. If I heard a little _crack_, I knew I'd have to let go and possibly call an ambulance.

We just sat there for the longest time. I was vaguely aware that Freddie's hand was still in mine, which was a good sign, but I wanted more than anything else to jump from the car and run back to Carly's house.

I had to say something, had to acknowledge the person driving us. It would've been rude not to, and today, I couldn't be rude. "So, Mrs. Benson," I said casually, ignoring Freddie's incredulous stare. "Who's hosting this?"

"The reunion?" She almost turned to face me, though that would have resulted in a crash. "My cousin. Alexander."

"Is your family very close?" I pressed.

"Very. I call every member of my family each Saturday, just to catch up."

"Everyone…?" I asked. Freddie nodded, rolling his eyes.

"Three hours, every weekend," she said proudly. "Freddie talks too, but usually he's busy with his homework."

'Hiding in my room', Freddie mouthed. I nodded approvingly.

I felt like my job in the car was to keep awkward silences from enveloping us all. That was the absolute worst feeling in the world, when you're all straining for something to say but you just can't think of a thing. Luckily, Mrs. Benson spoke before I had to again.

"Sam," she said in the sticky-sweet voice reserved for dogs and small children, "if you don't mind, I'd like to lay down some ground rules for today. Just to make sure everything goes smoothly."

I swallowed.

"I know you're a prankster," Mrs. Benson said with a false laugh that gave me chills. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd leave all the whoopee cushions and arrow hats and whatever else in the car."

"Arrow hats- what?- I wouldn't--" Mrs. Benson held up a finger before I could continue. My blood boiled, and Freddie hid his face in his hands.

"And once we're at the house," she continued, "and everyone's talking, I would just love it if you would keep conversation topics on school and that sort of thing. Oh, and don't mention detention, or principal-office-visits, or any of that."

My cheeks were burning. I didn't know why. This was to be expected; I was a bad kid in Mrs. Benson's eyes, and she didn't want me embarrassing her in front of her kin. But being reminded of all the crap I'd pulled made my stomach coil. Especially with my boyfriend sitting next to me, looking ashamed!

"At dinner," Mrs. Benson prattled on. "Small bites and inside voices are expected." Her honeyed voice now showed a hint of steel. "We don't talk with our mouths full, and we say grace before anyone starts. We don't take more than we can eat- nobody likes a Hungry Harriet."

'Hungry Harriet'? I mouthed to Freddie. He shrugged.

"Insults are taken personally," she said. Childish voice was gone now. "_Everything_ is taken personally. I would like it if you wouldn't tell any jokes or amusing stories."

"Got it," I spoke for the first time since the beginning of her speech. My voice was considerably softer. "No jokes."

"And the most important thing." The car eased to a halt at a red light, and Mrs. Benson swiveled to face me. Her face was tensed with apprehension; I could tell she was terrified I'd ruin the afternoon. "This is the first time our little family has met you, Samantha," she said. "First impressions are very, very important."

The light clicked to green. We sped off.

Mrs. Benson had just opened her mouth to speak again when Freddie interrupted. "I think she gets it, mom," he said tiredly.

"I just wanted to make sure--"

"This means a lot to me, too," I assured her. Freddie gave me a questioning glance; his mom's speech had hurt, and I wanted her to like me, even if I basically despised her. "I've been planning all week- Carly's helped. My hair and everything was picked out days and days ago. I'm nervous. I won't mess this up."

I could see Mrs. Benson's expression in the rear view mirror. She looked stunned, like someone had hit her over the head with a frying pan. (Something I might have tried if it wasn't such a big day.) Luckily, her eyes had softened slightly, which meant I was off the hook for at least a couple minutes.

"So how long is the drive?" I asked Freddie. A grin played around the edges of his mouth; it took him a minute to answer.

"Twenty more minutes, I think," he said before giving me a thumbs up when his mother wasn't looking. He looked proud. I glowed.

"Cool. Uh…" I leaned closer to him, lips brushing his ear as I spoke as quietly as I could. "Is there any way we can talk without her hearing?"

I liked being this close to him, but I knew his mom would notice and the little respect I'd earned from her would be lost. I casually eased away.

"Hey, mom, you can put on 101.8 if you want," Freddie called to the front seat. Mrs. Benson perked up.

"Are you sure, dear?" she simpered. "I know you don't like it."

"Sam does," Freddie lied. I nodded eagerly, wondering what station he was referring to. I guessed it didn't play Taylor Swift and Sufjan Stevens. Mrs. Benson beamed and flipped on the radio. Her eyes were glassed over before the music even started playing. I prayed she could still drive while lost in her own little world.

Classical music swirled from the speakers. I relaxed; though it wasn't my favorite genre, I could stand classical. There wasn't a lot of music I couldn't stand.

"She loves this station," Freddie said with a grin. "If it's one of her favorite pieces, she completely loses herself, and doesn't hear a word we say."

"Seriously?" I waved both hands violently so Mrs. Benson could see. "Hey!" I said loudly. "I'm going to stick a whoopee cushion under grandpa Benson!"

No reaction. Whoa.

"It's an off switch," I said in awe. "Why haven't I heard of this before?"

Freddie grinned. "You'd use it for evil."

"So true." Keeping a wary eye on Mrs. Benson, we conversed easily, laughing and chatting and forgetting where we were headed.

"I'm terrified," I admitted after fifteen minutes of conversation. "They're going to eat me alive, and before they eat me they're going to say grace over my body."

"I'll protect you," Freddie promised. "I know all their weaknesses."

I grimaced. "Like what? Pop culture and teenaged pranksters?"

"Yep."

"I'd kiss you, but then my lip-gloss would smudge and Carly would kill me before your family could," I sighed. "Ah, what the heck."

One hand lost itself in Freddie's hair. I loved this. I was glad to be fighting for the right to kiss Freddie. When our lips met, I felt Carly's dainty handiwork being demolished.

Of course that was the exact moment when we pulled into Mrs. Benson's cousin's driveway. The radio was switched off. Mrs. Benson resurfaced from her classical-music-induced trance.

I flung myself back from Freddie as though electrocuted. His lips were now sufficiently pink- I giggled, miming wiping my mouth. We both stifled laughs as his coat sleeve came away sticky and pink.

"All right, let's go," Mrs. Benson trilled. My good mood evaporated. Hyperventilation was right around the corner. I tossed Freddie a frantic look before stepping from the car.

"No jokes, no pranks," Mrs. Benson whispered as we walked slowly towards the door. The entire house freaked me out already. It was large and perfectly white with light brown shingles the color of tasteless chocolate. The paint was evenly coated, still glistening as though it was new. The bushes lining the ground were almost topiary animals, cut in odd formations that still gave the illusion of order. The grass was scarily green, the gravel perfect spheres. It was a doll house. It was perfect.

Then Mrs. Benson was ringing the doorbell and I was having a nervous breakdown. "I can't do it," I hissed in Freddie's ear. "This place is a horror movie waiting to happen."

"You can." His hand was pressed against my back, even giving my soul support. "You better," he added, half-teasingly.

"Ugh…"

"One day," he begged. "Get in good with my family. I love you."

"Yeah, genius, that's why I'm here," I grumbled.

The door was flung open to reveal a world I wanted no part in. Putting on my best smile, I followed Mrs. Benson and my boyfriend onto the threshold.

**(Just to be clear, I wasn't making fun of saying grace before dinner. I do the same every night. I don't want anyone to get offended. Love y'all!) **


	17. Chapter 16

**So sorry I uploaded the wrong, chapter, guys. I feel like an idiot. But thank you so much for not getting angry. **

**P.S.- how awesome does 'iThink They Kissed' look? "YOU SPOKE OF IT!" Gotta love Sam.**

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Have you ever entered a place you really didn't want to go into, but had to anyway, and every step you took triggered this panicky feeling, almost like you were claustrophobic and in a very, very small space? I couldn't think of a better simile, as my brain was slowly shutting down, but that was what I was experiencing as I stepped inside the Benson household.

There were people everywhere, sitting in rigid-backed chairs, standing with non-alcoholic (I could only assume) drinks in their hands, crowding the hall and spilling out into the rooms branching out over the house. All of them resembled Freddie at least a bit- a woman who looked to be in her thirties had his eyes. An older gentleman's graying hair held the same texture as Freddie's. It was frightening.

"Marissa!" someone cried; a slim man wearing an ill-fitting collared shirt and ironed dress pants hurried forward, gently pushing his family members aside with a muttered 'Oh, I'm so sorry'. Perfectly round glasses wobbled on the bridge of his nose.

Mrs. Benson smiled tightly. "Alex- how are you?"

The two embraced awkwardly, barely touching each other and finally pulling away. It looked painful. They chatted over nothing, but not in the fun, carefree way Freddie and I did it; they spoke to fill the silence.

"Freddie, you've gotten so tall!" Alexander exclaimed, extending a hand for Freddie to shake. Freddie's grin was short-lived. It seemed that this was all that Alex had to say, for he turned back to Mrs. Benson, waiting for her to introduce the non-Benson guest.

"And this is Samantha Puckett, a friend of Freddie's," Mrs. Benson said. Freddie gave her a meaningful glare.

"My girlfriend, actually," he added as I flashed my prettiest smile and tried to look innocent. Half of the endless crowd turned at the word 'girlfriend'. I began to sweat.

"We're glad to have you," Alex said with what would be a warm smile if he didn't look so uncomfortable.

I turned on the charm. "I'm glad to be here. Your house is lovely." What kind of teenager says 'your house is lovely'? But Alexander looked pleased.

Suddenly, Mrs. Benson was swept into the arms of her family members, saying polite hello's and how are you's until she disappeared from my sightline. Thankfully, Freddie stayed resolutely at my side.

"Stay away from anyone around our age," he murmured as low as he could. "They're the worst. Like miniature adults. Just follow me."

We headed into the pack. Two women stood by a gleaming table, their hair in unattractive buns. Again, they shared Freddie's eyes. It was uncanny.

"Oh, Fredward!" one called in a high-pitched voice.

Freddie straightened unconsciously for inspection. "Hi, Aunt Barbara."

Aunt Barbara took Freddie into her arms, pinching his cheek and messing his hair and basically doing everything a kid finds annoying. She fretted over how thin he was while her companion cocked her head in acknowledgment and did nothing more.

"Aunt Barbara, this is Sam," Freddie took my arm and pulled me closer (then quickly let go).

The loving adoration faded from her eyes. She wasn't hostile, but the look she gave me was terrifyingly appraising.

"Hello," I said timidly.

"Young lady, what is the capital of Alabama?" she asked, as though this was a typical conversation starter. Of course, at that moment, my mind went blank. She waited with her eyebrows arched.

"I- Montgomery?" I stuttered. Aunt Barbara sniffed and turned back to her friend as though I didn't exist.

Freddie began walking deeper into the crowd of Bensons. I followed.

"What was that all about?" I hissed. It pissed me off that Freddie was so obviously hiding a grin.

"Aunt Barbara likes to test people." I got no further explanation. Unnerved, I smiled at everyone with the hopes of avoiding any real contact.

Freddie introduced me to various other family members. All were cold, distant; some, like Barbara, asked me questions. Others murmured obnoxiously the second I left, snide little put-downs that were far too audible. I was just getting used to the Bensons' odd habits, chatting up an uncle with startlingly blonde hair and Mrs. Benson's nervous voice (though deeper, obviously), when my phone began spouting out 'Hot N Cold'. It was my personal ring tone for Carly- I had set it yesterday.

"Excuse me," I apologized with a halfhearted smile that melted like ice at their disapproving glares. Heart sinking at Freddie's embarrassment, I ducked out into a hall completely devoid of Bensons and flipped open the phone.

"Hey, Carls, I can't really talk," I whispered into the speaker.

"You said I could call you!" her voice, slightly hysterical, was loud enough that the people nearest my hall could hear. I lowered the volume.

"Yeah, I know… okay, what's up?"

"Jake," Carly grumbled, now considerably softer. "I picked up when he called one more time, and, Sam…!"

My hand flew to my head, expecting the gentle comfort that comes with running your fingers through free-falling hair, only to find my perfected bun and nothing else to mess with. "What happened?"

"We talked, and I totally broke," she whimpered. I didn't want to hear it. I cared, I really did, but I needed this day so badly, it took a lot of willpower to keep myself on the phone. "I told him I forgave him, though I regretted it like ten seconds later- he thinks we're back together!"

"Are you?"

"Well… sort of," Carly admitted. "But I don't want to be! I just want to end it all!"

"Then do," I said tiredly. What did she _want_ from me? "Call him back and tell him it's off. He's been a cheating jerk. We don't forgive weasels."

The heart on the other end seemed to lighten. "Thanks, Sam," Carly said, and I could picture her strained face breaking out into a radiant smile.

I could hear Freddie's voice through the hall, through the walls separating us. Maybe I was imagining it. "Anytime. Bye."

I hurried back to Freddie's side. A cousin had joined the group; her hair had been chopped in an unflattering style, barely falling past her ears. The girl (who looked to be a little younger than me) didn't seem upset about it, though. In fact, she looked proud of her hair, chin upturned and eyes slanted in pretentious observation.

"I'm so sorry about that," I said. A twenty-something made a derisive sound in his throat. "My friend needed me."

"That's all right." Freddie's eyes flashed with brief expectation at his family members; their nodded, acknowledging that it was fine that I had left for a moment. I was introduced to the girl with the odd haircut- Avery- and various other people who looked uncomfortable with me and everything else in the world.

They grilled me about my grades, my social life, and my favorite books and shows. My voice shook at times, caught unawares, but mostly I answered properly. Freddie moved me from group to group, and eventually I got used to it. Time passed. Relatives warmed up to me.

But every ten minutes or so, my cell phone would blare "'Cause you're hot then you're cold, you're yes than you're no…" and I would have to shrink back into an uninhabited corner to deal with Carly. Jake didn't want to hear no, and she didn't want to tell him so.

"He just called Freddie… I don't want to repeat it," Carly moaned in the middle of our fifth phone call. "I don't want to be with someone who disses my friends like that!"

"Break it off," I said through gritted teeth. "Please, Carly, I have to go…"

_Beep._ "Sorry, Sam, Jake's calling," Carly said distractedly. With a click, I was disconnected, feeling the need to bash something.

"Sam?"

Freddie appeared at my side, his beyond-dorky outfit slightly rumpled from a relative's adoring touch. "Dinner," he beckoned. "I'd turn off the phone."

"Carly needs me to stay sane," I explained. Freddie grimaced.

"Well, I think Carly can lose her sanity for a while," he said. "Just, like, half an hour. Say grace, act like a good girl- Aunt Barbara's got a boatload of geography questions ready for you."

I followed him, switching my phone to vibrate. "Oh, goody."

The dining room was absolutely teeny.

It was ridiculous! The house had been bulging with Bensons when I had first arrived, and that had been when all of the socially challenged nerds had been spread out over halls and rooms and stairways. Now, Benson upon Benson upon Benson was crowded into the smallest room in the house. Some complained; all the women over forty stood politely with their arms tucked in and their eyes feigning relaxation.

The room itself was dollhouse-ish, like the rest of the place, I observed as my arm was bent against a couple who stood too stiffly to not be married. A chandelier hung gently from the ceiling, its diamond pendants rustling cheerily while the rest of the mechanism stayed perfectly still. There were at least fifty chairs surrounding a gleaming rectangular table. They barely fit, knocking wooden legs like the flesh legs standing around them.

A silence had fallen. I couldn't breathe; I really couldn't. There were too many people here, too many… claustrophobia overtook the better half of my brain, and I squeezed what I assumed was Freddie's hand for comfort.

"Excuse me, young lady!"

I managed to get a glimpse of the man whose hand I was holding; a stocky middle-aged guy with an expression of horror pasted over his clean, snipped features. His hands were so _small!_ I quickly let go, apologizing best I could.

Freddie caught my eye, wadded between an 18 or 19 year old boy and his mother. My eyes pleaded forgiveness. Again, his face burned with disappointment just for a moment. It's not like I was _trying _to piss off all his uber-sensitive relatives!

My phone vibrated against my leg. The 'bzzt, bzzt' could just be heard in the deafening quiet; I played cool. Maybe my reddening face wouldn't give me away. Darnit, Freddie, stop staring at me…!

Five women miraculously squeezed their way into the dining room carrying steaming trays of exquisite food. I salivated, eyeing it all hungrily like a dog. Turkey, and roast beef, and- could it be? It was! Ham! And pasta with thick, almost bubbling tomato sauce, broccoli bits fluttered over the dish like healthy fairy dust. Potatoes with butter and salt melting over them sat just feet away. Salad, green as anything purely natural was the centerpiece. I needed it all.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

"Let's get started," Mrs. Benson said in a very Bree Vandikamp sort of way. Naturally, I thought this meant 'start eating' instead of 'start saying grace', so I made a dive for the nearest chair. Luckily enough, the mass of solemn-faced Bensons held me back. As I stated earlier, I couldn't move, not even to quell the annoying buzzing coming from my pocket.

We all bowed our heads. I bowed mine a little too late, so for I second I just looked around with mild interest at all the dark-haired people with their chins tucked to their necks before I caught on and mimicked them. Mrs. Benson started, thanking God for her family, her life, the food on the table, George Clooney, and Freddie, among other things. She lingered on Freddie.

"…and thank you for the tick lotion that keeps my Freddie safe, and for the dandruff shampoo that keeps his widdle head nice and clean---"

"Mom!" Freddie broke in. I sneaked a glance at my boyfriend; he was glowing red. I smirked.

Other Bensons- most of them, actually- said a few words too. And by a few, I mean millions. Millions and millions of words. They wouldn't shut up. They proclaimed how thankful they were for almost everything that you could name, minus ham, which was the only thing I was thankful for at the time. Even the younger Bensons chimed in, but most just copied their parents.

Freddie started to speak; his voice, low and appreciative, was not something I had expected to hear.

"Thank you, Lord, for everyone in this room," he murmured simply. I blushed, as his downcast eyes glanced up to meet mine.

"Samantha?" Aunt Barbara said sharply. "Would you like to say anything?"

I jumped, startled. "Of- of course!" I said, voice way too high. Clearing my throat, I began, thinking to lie but quickly converting to the one thing on my mind. "Thank you, Lord, for the food upon the table," I said. "Thank you for the roast beef, and the water with the ice cubes, and the potatoes with melted butter drizzling down the side…"

Swallowing with a cracked voice, I noticed that the woman next to me was now staring at the table in sudden interest. "Thank you for the salad and the dressing, and- are those tomatoes? Thanks for the tomatoes, too. And… and the ham, would you _look_ at that thing? If you dropped that off the side of a building, you could bounce it off a truck! It'd be like Spider Pig! Super Ham, Super Ham, does whatever a Super Ham does," I found myself singing. I couldn't believe it. What was wrong with me? Did I even know what I was talking about?

But they were laughing. Genuine laughter, none of the tinkling giggles you save for unfunny jokes. Smiles on the faces of the least friendly people I'd ever met- did I do that?

"Let's eat," Alexander sighed, still smiling. I grabbed a chair near Freddie. Somehow, we all fit, though it was a tight squeeze.

I was the first to grab a dish, piling my plate high with the assortment of food (glorious _food!_) in front of me. The others graciously took a roll or a bit of salad, but the meat almost stayed untouched. I didn't care. I ate and ate, forgetting manners and anything else.

"Sam," Freddie said warningly. I looked up with cheeks full to bursting; oh. Right. From then on, the bites were daintier.

Conversation was weak and dry, unlike the roast beef. I joined in when I could, grinning and cracking old-fashioned jokes which they tittered at, their lips barely curving upward (but it was still a positive reaction). I noticed that while Freddie looked at most of his relatives with veiled disdain, there was one jovial uncle who he seemed to like. Whenever they met eyes, Freddie's face lit up.

Just as we all leaned back in our chairs, our stomachs content and not caring about much else, my phone began buzzing again. "Sorry," I tossed over my shoulder as I stumbled from the packed room.

"Hey," I said, "sorry about earlier, I couldn't answer, we were just--"

"_He_ broke it off," Carly sobbed. I stood, stunned for a moment.

"…What?"

"We talked for the longest time and I finally ended up screaming at him 'cause he wouldn't stop saying 'baby, we can make this work'. Jake was just silent and then he said maybe it was for the best that we broke up, and then the phone was dead…" Carly took a shuddering breath, which wavered over the bad reception. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I keep bugging you, and it's not even your problem- it shouldn't even be _my_ problem! But I can't stop thinking about--"

I had to interrupt. "It's okay, it's okay," I promised. "You're my best friend. Bug me whenever you like."

"Thanks."

"So you really want to be with the--"

"Don't say weasel!" Carly said tiredly. I shrugged, though she couldn't see.

"Have it your way, then. You really want to be with the… him?" I asked unevenly.

Another crackling rustle of breath. "Apparently. I mean, I wouldn't torture myself like this if he didn't mean something. People aren't perfect."

I felt like screaming. "He's just gonna hurt you again," I predicted. "C'mon, Carly."

"But something's telling me he's worth it," she said.

"Okay," I said slowly, wondering how much time had elapsed. "Then call him, and tell me how it goes."

"You're the best."

"The best of the best," I said, my voice rising at the last word. She giggled, and the phone went dead.

I scurried back to the table. People were milling out into the halls again, to be reunited at dessert. I found Freddie and grasped his arm, pulling him from the throng.

"What happens now?" I whispered.

Freddie cocked his head to one side. "We… talk," he said confusedly. "Except now everybody's full and happy."

"Can we get away for a while? Like, an empty room?"

"If you're planning to seduce me, Miss Puckett, this isn't the place to do it," Freddie quipped. I slapped him, earning a horrified glance from an elderly gentleman.

"Not what I meant, jerk," I said. "I just want to talk to you and no one else. I guess that's not possible."

He grinned at my disgruntled expression, softening. "It'd be possible for a couple minutes," he promised, eyes flickering over halls and rooms as we departed the kitchen and made our way across the house. "Until someone finds us, that is. We need an excuse- you had a question about some school thing, okay?"

"Got it." It was hard, finding an empty space- even a corner. Nodding and murmuring hello's, Freddie led me through the halls that screamed pretentious decorating. Finally we ducked into a sitting room (or something like it) and flopped down on the couch.

Then Freddie's hands were softly touching my hair, leaning forward, and I was floating. I had to stop grinning so he could kiss me.

"You like living on the wild side," I murmured, pulling him into a hug. "We could be caught and probably flayed alive."

"Hmmmmmmmmm," Freddie sighed, either pondering whether we should leave or just sounding content. "You've been really good today, by the way. Geez, I don't know how you survived. They usually tear guests apart."

"I'm special."

Freddie smiled, and kissed me again. I suddenly leapt from the couch, eyes wide with fake horror.

"What?" Freddie looked genuinely concerned.

"My lip gloss," I moaned. "Carly'll kill--"

Freddie grabbed my arms and pulled me back to the couch. It was cheesy, couple-y playful stuff. The stuff I usually barfed at. In such a dangerous environment, it was entertaining.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

"Crap!" I untangled myself from Freddie's arms (which took a lot of willpower) and fished my phone from its pocket. "I'm sorry," I grumbled, flipping open the phone. Freddie didn't even try to hide his annoyance, though it wasn't directed at me.

"Hey, Carly."

"Hey," Carly said gloomily. She was silent for a few seconds, and my frustration seized up, but then, "I guess I _sort_ of worked things out with Jake. He said he needed some time to think it over."

"Think what over?" I demanded, immersing myself in her problem. It was the only way to keep myself from hanging up.

"My offer. Y'know, to get back together."

"He's jerking you around, Carly-o. Trying to make you sweat it out."

"What should I do?"

Freddie wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I smiled affectionately, though ignored him otherwise. "I don't know. Uh… oh, I got it! Call him back and be like, 'I don't think it's going to work out after all. Sorry.' He'll feel _so_ bad."

It was a stupid, petty idea. But I wanted to get off the freaking phone. Besides, I didn't have anything better to offer.

"All right," Carly sighed. "I swear this'll never happen again. Go charm the pressed pants off those wacky Bensons."

"I will. See ya."

"You want her to play with Jake's mind?" Freddie raised an eyebrow. "That's low."

I grimaced. "I know. But--"

"_Freddie!_"

Of all the prissy, disapproving aunts, Aunt Barbara had to be the one to find us snuggling on the couch. Her head was poked into the room with a terrified look on her face, like she didn't know what she was seeing but she certainly didn't like it. We sprang apart.

There was no appropriate excuse in this situation, so we both apologized and hurried from the room feeling unsatisfied and eager to be alone again.

"I never want to catch you two like that again!" Aunt Barbara was shrieking loud enough for the entire hall to hear as she paraded us through the house with our heads bowed slightly. "Such behavior…"

I didn't know what to say, how to get into her good books again. I could only mumble, "We were just…" before trailing off and leaving the situation as it was.

"We weren't doing anything," Freddie argued with interjections as his aunt muscled him along. "Just talking."

"You can talk with us," Barbara snapped. "Oh, your collar's rumpled, dear." She fussed with Freddie's shirt for a moment and melted back into the crowd, no doubt telling all her relatives what a skank I was.

"Minor setback," Freddie whispered to me. "Sorry, but she's gonna hate you now. Just act respectable through dessert, and we can go."

"I was hoping this wouldn't happen." I smiled my widest at a few passing uncles. They eyed me suspiciously. "When's dessert?"

"Soon."

It didn't come soon enough. Though I tried my absolute best to be nice to Freddie's relatives, I had wrecked the respect I earned at dinner, and they weren't shy about showing it. We stood awkwardly by a couple who completely ignored us, chatting animatedly about a family friend's romantic life. It was horrifically fascinating. They could talk over an unbearably boring topic for hours, it seemed, and observing them was painful.

"Mike said he and Shelia broke up," the man frowned, absently playing with his cufflinks. His wife's giggle was like off-key crystal.

"No, sweetheart- he said they were taking some time apart."

"Isn't it the same thing?"

The woman patted her husband's arm patronizingly. "Of course not! They're just going through a rough patch, is all.

"Do you think they'll make it?" he asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"Well, I don't know. Shelia always hated the way Mike never asked which movie _she_ wanted to see-- she told me about it all the time. That sort of thing can ruin a relationship."

"But he's such a swell guy."

I was practically nodding off when my phone buzzed for the zillionth time. "Sorry," I murmured.

"Tell me what happened," Freddie said with a hopeless smile.

"Ex_cuse_ me!" the woman said sharply. Her hands were now on her hips, and the couple glared at us with uncharacteristic ferocity. "If you two would please keep it down, we're trying to have a conversation!"

We apologized, rolling our eyes as they turned away. I flipped open the phone, almost losing my grip on it as one of Freddie's uptight cousins bumped into me. The guy shot me a glare which I countered with a friendly smile.

"Benson family asylum," I said in a high, fake voice.

"Not funny, Sam!" Carly said angrily. I recoiled (though, of course, she wasn't anywhere near me).

"Sorry, I guess… uh, anything up?"

"He exploded! Said _I_ was jerking _him_ around, and he didn't want anything to do with me! I should've never-- he said he hated me, Sam! _Hated_ me!" She sounded on the verge of tears, and there was so much helplessness in her voice, I couldn't become more than a little annoyed.

"Carls, I didn't know he would do that," I sighed. Unconsciously, I had dodged through the house to an uninhabited corner; if the family could hear me, they didn't say anything. "But, come on, if he's going to be that way--"

"Whatever." Okay, now I really _was_ annoyed. "I'm going to call Jake, maybe work things--"

I couldn't help it. It wasn't an explosion like before, but it was something. "Carly Shay," I hissed, "are you seriously gonna beg this creep to be your boyfriend again? I've listened to you sob over what he's done- is still doing- all day! He's made you miserable, why…? I can't listen to this anymore. Please, do whatever you like, but don't call again. I'm only making it worse, right?"

"N-no! Sam… I've just never felt this way about a guy!"

"When he walks in a room, does the room get lighter?" I asked. "Do you feel _right_ when you talk to him, like nothing else matters, even if the conversation isn't that good? Do you wish, sometimes, that you and him could be the only people on earth, and never leave each other's sides, because everything's colder when he's gone?"

She paused. "No," Carly said softly. "I don't feel any of that."

"Then I wouldn't call him back," I snapped.

"Is that how it feels with Freddie?"

"Yes," I said without missing a beat. "Good luck, Carly-fries."

"Carly-fries? That's a new one," she laughed. I smirked.

"I know. Not one of my best. See ya."

It wasn't until I had closed the phone and had walked halfway back through the house that the meaning of my own words hit me. Everything _did_ get lighter when Freddie walked in a room. I felt right talking to him. All the stuff I had said- it was true. I had known that, but it's different when you fully understand. He made me happy, and I would do anything short of playing bagpipes with Miss Briggs to keep him around. It felt so good to know that. I could take anything his crazy family threw at me; anything at all. All I had to do was make it through dessert and a little chatter afterwards, and then we'd go.

I saw Freddie across the room once I had traveled through a couple more halls. He had his back to me, over near a pristine table with flowers in a crystal vase. His mother, Alexander, and a few unknowns stood around him. Still giddy from my realization, I bounded towards them with the intention of joining their conversation and avoiding any more unpleasantness.

Even before I got very close, their piercing voices wafted over the crowd.

"She seems like a nice girl," Alexander was saying. I quickly fought to preserve my spur-of-the-moment happiness; I had a feeling what I heard might crush it in the slightest.

"She is," Freddie said eagerly. The conversation froze for a moment, as no one knew how to continue.

Mrs. Benson wrung her hands, looking overpoweringly concerned. "Freddie, darling," she said, "could you tell Samantha to eat a bit… humbler at dessert?"

I stopped walking, standing nonchalantly beside some women deep in boring discussion. They hid me from sight, though I could still hear everything Freddie's group said. God help me, I'm an eavesdropper.

Whatever I expected Freddie to say, it wasn't what came out of his mouth. "Okay." That was all. He didn't defend me, or chastise his mother for speaking ill of me- he basically agreed that I ate like a pig. Which I did, I reminded myself. No need to get angry.

"And maybe," an unknown woman added, "to act more respectably to her superiors. Why, my brother spoke to her before dinner, and she spoke like she was speaking to one of little school friends! She didn't even call him 'mister'."

Superiors. Don't make me laugh.

"Sam isn't that rude, Aunt Becky," Freddie said uncomfortably. When Becky glared, he added quickly, "I'll, uh, give her the message."

They all started asking Freddie to give me various messages- stop doing this. Don't do that. Fix your shirt, tighten your bun, laugh at Uncle Alfred's lame jokes. I watched them, concealed behind the chatting women who barely noticed me. My contentedness had faded.

"I'll- I'll tell her- listen," Freddie said desperately after a few minutes of them putting me down. "With all due respect, I don't think you're giving Sam a chance. She's trying really hard to fit in here."

One of his aunts laughed wryly. "Darling, no one fits in here but Bensons," she said. "But still, that girl could at least learn to curtsey."

"Curtsey?" Freddie's reaction mirrored mine.

"It's proper etiquette!"

"She really could do better," Mrs. Benson said awkwardly. I stifled a glare. "Freddie, dear, just--"

"She isn't doing perfectly," Freddie admitted. My cheeks burned. "But she's doing her best."

"Some of the relatives are complaining! Her best isn't enough, Fredward!"

A pause. "I know," Freddie said. "Give her a break."

"She doesn't belong here. I should've never allowed--"

"She's here," Freddie said firmly. "Sam's doing the best she can to impress us. Most of the family likes her enough. Once we leave today, they never have to see her again."

Mrs. Benson laughed deep in her throat; I barely heard, straining hard to listen as it was. "Because soon, I hope, you'll come to your senses and stop hanging around with such a crowd."

"What crowd?! It's just Sam!"

Their other relatives had slyly left their side, going to chat with a less stimulating crowd. "You're too young to date anyway," Mrs. Benson said tearfully. "I'm just afraid that girl will take advantage of you."

I had unconsciously stepped closer, bumping into the shoulder of a guy I'd spoken with at dinner.

"What's to take advantage of?" Freddie asked uncertainly. He was considering what his mother implied; I heard it in his voice.

Mrs. Benson paused dramatically. With a vague tone, she said, "Oh, I don't know. She comes from a shady background, her only friends seem to be you and Carly, and her speech is absolutely vulgar. She's cleaned up a bit today, I suppose, but-- Fredward, for years that girl's been the talk of the street. Parents tell horror stories. Samantha Puckett is bad news, and you're a sweet, well-adjusted boy from a good family--"

Freddie didn't interrupt. He didn't do anything. He stood there, looking pensive, while his mother ranted about all the terrible stuff I'd done and what I could do to him. I'd corrupt his innocent mind. I'd seduce him and ruin his life. I'd drain his bank accounts once we got old enough, and leave him for some roadie. And my own beloved boyfriend, the guy who had made me feel like a good person for once in my life, stood there and drank all the crap she spewed in.

"Freddie," Mrs. Benson said a few moments after her speech, "I… I don't want her around anymore. I'm sorry. Samantha's been all right the past few weeks, but I just don't get a good feeling from her. Once we get home, I'd appreciate it if you would tell her."

"Tell her what?" Freddie said weakly. "That I'm not allowed to see my own girlfriend?"

Mrs. Benson looked sternly down at her son, and, in that split second, she didn't seem like the crazy, overbearing witch I'd thought her to be. "I'd like you to break up with her, Freddie."

"You can't tell me…" Freddie sighed, bowing his head. "I'll talk to her."

What? _What?_ No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn't… _he_ couldn't… what, did Freddie actually agree with his darling mother? Did he think I was society's trash and he'd be better off without me? No. Freddie wouldn't just change his mind over me because of another one of his mom's rants. Would he? I had done so much- I had changed for him! I had worked so hard to impress his pretentious in-laws, and Mrs. Benson didn't think a thing of it.

I was hyperventilating. I was reeling. Fury and panic and terrifying apprehension seeped into my veins, and the worst part was I couldn't run like I had done at the dance, because if I did, I would lose any chance with Freddie I still had. I was stuck in this fiery pit of dislike.

"Dessert!" a woman called cheerily from the kitchen. A collective 'oooh' rose from the crowd, and they scurried towards the promise of food like dogs. I was shouldered along, trying to keep a poker face.

"Ready?" Freddie said, appearing at my side. I smiled, glazing over the negative battle of emotions with the universal sign for 'everything's okay'.

"Yep," I replied. We took our seats. Now wasn't the time to speak, but the time would come; whatever way the day ended, I swore I wouldn't lose it until we had left the damned life-sized dollhouse.


	18. Chapter 17

**This one's a cliffhanger and will probably earn me a lot of "WTF ARE YOU DOING?" comments. Don't worry. The ending's happy.**

**And… this fic was nominated for Best Seddie Story at the "First Ever iCarly Board"! Go vote for me if you love me (and you know you do).**

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Dessert looked divine. I detested its divinity, detested the fact that the Bensons, while unbearably annoying, could create something so beautiful- near perfect. If I attempted to bake a cake like the one resting pleasantly in the middle of the table, it would crash and burn in both the literal and figurative senses.

The cake was vanilla (I've never seen such a snowy color; it was too pure) with chocolate frosting coated generously across the three shrinking layers. Decorative chocolate roses were perched in sensible places, elaborating the design. Perfectly round cookies and crumb-less brownies on pretty dishes surrounded the masterpiece, looking meek and unworthy though surely just as tasty.

I sat next to Freddie, barely able to concentrate on the succulent food while knowing that just after dessert my short-lived happiness would be cruelly extinguished. He had smiled at me- smiled, like he hadn't a care in the world- before turning his attention to a boney woman carving the cake into slices that were equally as gorgeous on their own. Gleaming dishes were passed around until everyone had a piece of cake in front of them. No one ate.

After a minute of awkward, unsure silence, Alexander stumbled to his feet. "Please, eat!" he said nervously. Signs of approval showed on all faces, and Alex slumped down in his chair, relieved.

"Aren't you hungry?" Freddie inquired, eying my untouched plate and fork. He had dug in already, a chunk of his cake entirely missing.

"Not really," I said nonchalantly. "The cake looks wonderful, though."

A few women ducked their heads, beaming. Obviously the makers. I hid a smirk.

I finally gave in and sampled my dessert; oh, wow, how were these people all so thin? But I ate slowly (almost tortuously), forcing a few raised eyebrows from the adults whose cake had long disappeared. Once the group lost themselves in "when I was a kid" stories and fond old memories, I felt safe to devour the food at my leisure.

I was quiet. Not stony, but the few words I contributed to the conversation might have hinted that I wasn't too pleased at the moment. I wasn't rude- that would have been fatal- but the crowd glanced at me twice after every sentence, like something in my eyes wasn't quite right, and it unsettled them.

We finished fairly quickly; the whole lot of them tried in vain to curb their appetites, not wanting to be seen as gluttons, but the cake was eaten in no time at all. Relishing the lingering taste of the frosting and chatting it up with lifelong friends, they relaxed. I seemed to soak up the tension they had shed until I wrung my hands under the table and sat rigidly straight. And Freddie just sat there.

Plates were cleared. I tried to help, but with a few "No, really, dear"s I was shunted off to the halls again, to roam and to speak to whoever would speak back. There weren't a lot who even looked ready to give me the time of day, their politeness flowing quietly away as the relaxation from the good meal took hold of their better judgment.

"Oh, remember when Mora brought home her first grade, Dave?" a woman was squealing, leaning against a wall with her hand on her husband's shoulder. They seemed human. I stopped by their group, effortlessly fitting in now that their standards had slipped.

"Remember? How could I forget? A+," her husband said. "Only one misspelling, she thought 'sky' was spelled 'ski'- totally understandable."

"I used to do that all the time in first grade," I laughed, mind whiting out- it all seemed so natural, I couldn't help but join in. "And the word 'melancholy'- an older kid kept saying it to sound smart, and I thought a melancholy was a collie with a melon for a head. I even drew pictures."

Suddenly their eyes focused on me, jolted from their familiar haven by a tentative intruder. I swallowed.

"That's adorable!" Dave admitted after a moment's contemplation. "Why, Mora did something similar…"

One thing I can't stand about people? How everything you say has to relate to something in their own lives. I know it's a basic way to keep a conversation alive, but it's annoying. You bring up a kind of fruit; they had that fruit yesterday. You talk about a test you bombed; they failed their algebra quiz the week before. It never occurs to people that, sometimes, I just wanted to talk about me, and then they can have a turn.

I floated from that group, hopefully leaving them in higher spirits. While manipulating the Bensons that didn't already hate me into including me in their conversations, a constant steam of FreddiehatesmeFreddie'sgonnadumpme resonated in my head. I couldn't fight this sweeping wave of fury that kept nipping at my heart whenever Freddie came into sight; he must have noticed, too, because after a while, he looked worried whenever we met eyes. Good.

Then we both joined the same group within a few seconds of each other, roped into a verbal fight between two men over the worthiness of two professional ping pong players. It was hard to avoid his eye when so close; he occupied much of my line of vision. I tried my best, staring determinedly at one of the men's heads with ferocious intensity. And it wasn't an interesting head, either.

I felt a tug at my sleeve a few minutes later. By that time I had begun to drift, and I swiveled around with a start to find Freddie with his hand still by my shoulder, looking eternally anxious.

"Can we talk?" he asked, signaling towards a space just a few feet over where our voices would both be swallowed by the surrounding noise and muffled by the gap between us and everyone else. I stared in horror for a second, then nodded.

Here? In front of all his relatives?

I was a bull being led to the slaughterhouse. Some part of me prayed we'd be interrupted, scolded for spending a moment alone, but the Bensons were less uptight now, and it worked to my disadvantage. Freddie breathed deeply, like each breath held a silent meaning.

"Are you okay?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You seem upset," Freddie said with a frown, always the worried boyfriend. The power of frustration was not to be underestimated; it made even the sanest of us do incredibly stupid things. I fought the urge to shout- I had been fighting that urge a lot lately.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Eying him carefully, I began back to the group, wondering if I had misunderstood earlier.

But, no-- "Hey, wait up a second," Freddie commanded. I glared unashamedly. Get it over with, Freddork. My heart couldn't wait forever to break.

"If there's something wrong, you know you can tell me," Freddie said- it wasn't quite a question, but it sought an answer anyway.

"Well…" I took a chance, I gave Freddie the benefit of the doubt, I suppressed my terror of losing him, and I spoke. "Earlier, I kinda heard you and your mom talking."

"Okay."

"…About me."

There was always that split second after damning news is delivered where the recipient just stands there, processing, with their faces frozen in the expression they were wearing moments before. And then, feeling something deep within me tear down the middle, I watched as Freddie's features assumed a look of utmost horror.

"Oh- Sam--"

"I'm not mad," I lied, just to calm him down for a second. "I just want you to clear some stuff up."

He pushed his fingers through his hair like I was being particularly difficult. "How much did you hear?"

"Uh- all of it?" I said weakly. "I mean, the part where your mom said my best wasn't enough, and the part where she said I'd take advantage of you and pretty much ruin your life, and- the part where you agreed with her."

"I never…" The cogs in Freddie's mind were turning on overdrive. I had seen that look before- not on him, never on him. It was the look people get when they're thinking of an adequate lie. Again, something deep within me tore. "My mother was just being stupid, like she always is," said Freddie in a low voice.

"You agreed with everything she said," I said, half-shrugging. So calm, yet inside I was waiting with bated breath for the moment when I would fully understand what I had heard.

I don't know what I expected Freddie to say just then. I guess I thought he'd deny everything, make me feel a little bit better; I thought he'd apologize for anything that could've been misconstrued, and shower me with his natural wonderfulness until I felt all rosy again. Not exactly what happened.

Freddie sighed tiredly, rolling his eyes slightly and glancing over his shoulder at his family members. "Can we talk about this later?" he asked. There was no apology in his eyes, and no anxiousness to comfort me. There was just annoyance. After everything I'd done, after all my fretting and wondering and effort, he thought me and my clawed feelings annoying.

It wasn't that big of a deal, what I had overheard; it could easily be explained away. I would have even been fine if Freddie had just dumped me, because I knew how to react; I'd cry and recover. But this… this was awful. I was knee-deep in confusion with a boyfriend who disregarded everything I had done, who kept me plodding along in that quagmire of confusion. So, for the first time that day, I let myself be angry.

Angry at Carly for continually disrupting my day. Angry at the Benson family in general for being choosy and cold. Angry at Mrs. Benson for… well, a whole truckload of things. And angry at Freddie for shredding some sensitive part of me with those last few glances, full of emotions I was repulsed to see.

But Freddie had already turned and walked back to his family, smiling in a melancholy way with his beautiful eyes half-focused on me. I went to join him. Everything I said, both to him and to his relatives in the following minutes, wasn't even recognized. I might as well have run after all.

*

After an immeasurable period of time, we left.

Of course, as with all family gatherings, it wasn't that simple; first, Mrs. Benson had to awkwardly kiss and hug every single person in that stupid house, simpering like nobody's business. I hugged some, shook hands with others, and avoided still others fervently. Each hug was like a shard of ice melting on the tongue- short-lived, cold, and tasteless.

Freddie showed the best in a few individuals with his radiant smile and natural personality. I observed him tell an aunt how much he had enjoyed her company before complimenting her atrocious hat. She beamed, and the beam brought something new and flattering to her eyes. Freddie noticed it, too, and his smile became the tiniest bit more sincere.

"Oh- Alex, you're a dear, but we've got enough!" Mrs. Benson squealed, her arms laden with leftover food packaged with saran wrap. I had no idea there had even been leftovers; if I had, they would have been gone in a second. Maybe that's why I wasn't informed.

With many unnecessary waves and extra goodbyes, we stumbled to the car, turning back every few seconds to treat them all to another parting grin. Most had left the door, returning to their conversations. I'd bet you all the leftovers in the world that they barely remembered we had left- maybe some section of their hearts felt crooked without their dear Marissa Benson, but for the most part, we weren't needed. Alexander stayed by the door. He looked like a fortunate man drowning in his own safely constructed world behind that thin screen door; the flimsy plastic that he pressed his palm to was stronger than iron bars, as it kept him inside the house, inside his family. Hungrily, he watched us drive off.

"Well, that was lovely!" Mrs. Benson said after we were on the road. Trees whizzed by outside, their color made a bit lighter and a bit more surreal by the dirty glass.

Freddie made some agreeable noise, but I didn't feel compelled to speak; she hated me, anyway. She wanted me gone from her son's life. That was probably why she looked so happy- in hours I'd be but an unfortunate memory.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Sam?" asked Mrs. Benson. Our eyes met (hers reflected from the rear view mirror), hers twinkling, mine almost sunken.

Still, I smiled. "Yeah! Great crowd."

"They really liked you," Freddie assured me. "I think it was the bun."

My eyes flickered over his repeatedly, like fleeting butterfly kisses, and I nodded gently. I didn't know what to do. I was so full of terror, but showing it… that would be a mistake. A part of my stomach seemed to have been scooped out to prepare for the tidal wave of pain I anticipated.

Freddie was silent the rest of the ride, though I barely noticed. It wasn't noticeable, when you're absorbed in your own thoughts, what others do; the boy could've been shouting at me, and I would've looked absently back, tugging at my bun.

We arrived at the Bushwell apartment complex. Mrs. Benson practically fled the scene the moment the car halted, moving like a much younger woman across the parking lot. I scowled. She wanted to give us time alone- so Freddie could destroy me and get it over with.

"Look at her go!" Freddie whistled, snickering as his mother disappeared inside the building. Coward.

"Hmm."

"Sam? Sammy-o?" Freddie's hand was at my shoulder; I shook it off.

"Don't call me that."

"What should I call you?"

"Sam. You've only been doing it since grade school."

He shuffled uncomfortably. "Look, I know you're upset. Let's talk."

"'Kay." I leaned against the car, the metal that warm temperature that almost felt alive; if the vehicle hadn't been so eerily still, I would have felt for a heartbeat. Unconsciously, I still did.

"You already knew my mom hated you," Freddie said quietly. "I'm- I'm sorry to put it that way, but it's true! No matter what you do, that's not gonna change. She's set on hating you."

There's something about hearing the truth put into words. Your thoughts stand at sudden attention, clicking into understandable places; nothing I could do would change her mind. But I continued to listen.

"Aw, Sam, you were great today," Freddie grinned. "And if my mom wasn't the weirdo she is, she would've loved you. But she's a weirdo. What you heard shouldn't make you upset."

"Hearing my boyfriend's mother say out loud how I'll someday ruin his life…" Oh god, was I actually choked up? And Freddie didn't even understand why I was really angry. My nails dug into the palms of my hands.

Freddie's eyes were heavy with sympathy, and, somehow, that ticked me off further. How dare he feel bad for me now? It wasn't right.

"You agreed with her," I said. He looked puzzled. "Don't deny it- Fredward, you stood there and let her list all the reasons I'm worthless! Now, are you going to break up with me or not?"

It came out of nowhere. I really should have waited, should have eased into the conversation like one would a hot tub, but I was annoyed and impatient. So I jumped in headfirst, hit my head on the concrete, and felt the water burn.

"What?" Freddie had taken a step backwards. "Sam, why would I…? Where'd you get that from?"

"Where'd I get it from? I got it from the way you just stood there and nodded!" My voice had risen at least two octaves. "Oh yeah- you're mom commanded you to dump me, and you said you would! Pretty obvious."

"I wasn't going to break up with you," Freddie said meekly. He had stepped closer again, palms turned upward, while I stood there fuming against his car. "Sam, I swear, I just wanted to talk. And we do need to."

"About what?" I said warily.

He made the expression I hate; it was patronizing and tired, making me guilty on two separate levels. "Things are going to have to change," he said quietly. "I'm so, so sorry, but… the evil mother has spoken, y'know? You can't come over anymore. We probably can't hang out outside of school- my mom'll think we're broken up. I swear it won't be that bad."

That sent me reeling. My eyes must have slid out of focus, because I couldn't see; I was furious, and frustrated, and so very unappreciated.

"Do you get what I had to do for that little get-together?" I said metallically. Perplexed, Freddie waited for me to continue. "I spent hours- hours- picking out outfits and doing my hair and all this crap I'd really love to avoid. I had to censor everything that came out of my mouth- I had to change! And it's hard to change, Fredward. Don't you get that?"

"I do," Freddie said apologetically. "I'm sorry. But--"

"No, you don't get it," I said loudly, a raw realization dawning on me. "You don't get it at all. I've spent the last few weeks feeling crappy about myself, because everything I did and have done in the past is wrong. I thought you were this perfect little angel that I totally didn't deserve, but you know what, Freddie? If you were perfect for me, I wouldn't have to warp myself to be with you."

"I don't want you to change. I like you the way you are now, didn't I tell you that?"

"I know!" I was practically screaming now. "I just… what's wrong with me? I can't figure it out. I love you, Fredward!"

Freddie's eyes were wide with something like terror mixed with fascination. He didn't understand it, either.

"But I hate being around you!" It was so true, yet I had never comprehended it. "I thought I loved it, just spending a day talking and hanging out, but I feel so terrible about myself, the only time I'm happy is when I forget I'm there, and it's just you and someone to talk to. And now, after I tried to change- I tried so hard!- I'm not gonna be allowed to see you, 'cause the perfectionist upstairs says I'm not good enough."

"Sam, you're freaking out," Freddie said softly. He didn't get it. He didn't understand like I suddenly did; we weren't… we couldn't be together. It was painful. Not only did his family restrict our time together, and would continue to in the future, but we were so, so different.

I loved him. And I loved being with him. But the fear of losing him was crippling. Even in the calmest of pleasant times, when we rested against each other and just spoke for the sake of speaking, that persistent fear ripped the strength from my voice. So what should I do? What could I do? The options were limited, obviously: stay with Freddie or bail. And I had been so very afraid that he would break up with me; it was horribly ironic.

I dipped my head, wrapping my arms around myself and leaning against the car. Tears might have escaped down my cheeks, but I couldn't feel them; I was numb. I was collapsing into coils of bare truths until the answer became so clear it blinded me.

"Okay," I whispered. Freddie touched my arm.

"Okay what?"

I glanced up and immediately regretted it; Freddie's beautiful eyes captivated mine, so full of gentle care.

"Your mom's a douche," I said rudely, but it didn't matter. "And she thinks a lot of crap that is the farthest thing from the truth, but… she got one thing right. We should break up."

Something within those eyes broke. Freddie's entire body reacted; his facial features becoming smaller, somehow, his shoulders sagging, his knees sinking slightly so he now stood half a head shorter than me.

"You're not serious," he said with a humorless laugh. "You can't be. …Are you?"

When I stood silent with tears trickling down my face, Freddie made an incredulous noise from the back of his throat and turned away for a second, grabbing at his hair.

"I'm gonna kill her," Freddie said in a voice beyond quiet. It lacked any power or conviction whatsoever. "My girlfriend changes everything she is and keeps it up for hours just to impress my family and she makes her feel bad enough to dump me…"

"It's not your mom," I said. "I… Freddie, don't you get it? Well, of course you don't… we don't belong together."

"That's stupid," he said at once. I shook my head.

"No- Freddie, whenever I'm around you, some part of me feels like it's getting smashed. I can't explain it- no, I think I can. You're better than me. Don't interrupt! I know you are, and you bring out the best in me, but, like your mom said, my best isn't enough. I've been trying to change but I just can't, I am who I am, and I want to be with you so much, it's just… you're Freddie. I'm Sam. It doesn't work."

"Of course it works!" Freddie said in a strangled voice. "It works 'cause I love you, and I'm pretty sure you love me!"

"Yeah, I do, but--"

"I'm not better than you, and I love who you are," he said, tearing my heart further. "You don't have to be anything else than Sam. Okay?"

"It's not that you're making me change, I know you're not." I had risen from the car, voice gathering strength and solidifying my decision. Freddie, on the other hand, was unraveling. "Unconsciously, I'm changing myself, because-- aw, Freddie, it's all me! I'm the reason this can't work, I love you to death, but I'm not happy!"

He looked broken. I quickly added, "No, that's not true, I'm happy, I just… god, Freddie, your family hates my guts, and I wasted a day of my life trying to make 'em love me. Am I gonna keep having to waste time trying to iron out the kinks here?"

"Nothing else matters, it's just you and me, I--"

"That'd be true if we were older, but we're in high school." I was louder now. "Your mom makes the rules, and we can't run off together. This- you, me- it isn't worth all the stress and pain that's going on here. I've never been happier than with you, Freddork, but it's killing me." It was. I realized that now. I didn't want this to happen, I would have married Freddie and run off to Antarctica to party with the penguins for the rest of my life if he had asked a day earlier, but I needed… I needed to do this.

Freddie stood there for a minute, not doing much of anything. He made a few small sounds, shuffled his feet, that sort of stuff; but nothing concrete, nothing that would allow me to leave and run off the rest of my adrenaline rush so I could cry.

"You're gonna throw this away because you're 'changing yourself'," he said coldly. It wasn't the tone I had been expecting; it threw me. I nodded, though. "Just 'cause there are some problems, you're just gonna dump me and leave what's been going on for years under our noses- we were meant to be together, I thought you thought that too."

"I do," I said apologetically. God, I wanted to kiss him. "But I can't keep this up."

"You're an idiot."

Not words I had been expecting from Fredward Benson. They were filled with such intense hatred and watered down cruelty, I could only feel ashamed and stare at my pretty shoes.

"Fine! Go!" He was choked up, I could hear it. I reached out to grip his shoulder, but my hand was instantly batted away, and Freddie glared at me through suddenly red eyes.

"You know what, Sam? I thought you were better than this. You kept saying how much you loved me, and we both put so much into this relationship--"

"Before you get into a whole anti-Sam rant," I said angrily, letting my defensive side kick in, "I do love you. And it's not that I'm not 'better' than ending this--"

Freddie wasn't listening. He clutched his upper arms with shaking hands, looking quite pitiful as he tried not to get too upset.

"Are you listening to me?"

"You always end up hurting me," he said brokenly. "Either physically or like this."

That knocked the air from my lungs. The flood of emotions that had messed with my head now ebbed away, leaving me wondering how I would go on now that I had so courageously dumped the best thing that had ever happened to me.

"Freddie… I'm so sor--"

"Maybe you should go."

Like it had been his idea in the first place that I leave. He made to walk away, and I just couldn't let him. Grabbing his shoulder with a rough grip that probably bruised, I forced him to look at me.

"Please," I growled, so it wasn't much of a plea, more of an order. "Don't hate me. I love you more than anything else in the world."

Questions circled Freddie's head, I could almost see them; Then why are you leaving me? Why are you hurting me? Why? Why? Why?

I didn't know the answer. But I needed time.

Pulling Freddie into a kiss, letting my gushing tears possessively overrun his budding ones, letting the torrent of emotions wash over me. Then he shrunk away, wiping his nose like he used to do in second grade whenever I pushed him or made him upset.

I didn't watch him go. To me, he was gone the minute we broke apart. I began my long trek home, forgetting if I was supposed to go to Carly's to return the clothes or talk about Jake or whatever. I didn't care.

I had no regrets, because some part of me screamed that it had to be done. But that didn't soften the hurt.


	19. The end

**I can't believe it's done. I love this story like a virtual, all-text child. Thank you so much for reading. Reviews are love. **

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It was like my drastic mood change was being projected out over the darkening night; the wind picked up, the temperature plummeted, and I was left to trudge home through it all, clutching at my exposed arms and feeling the sting of whistling wind hitting fresh tears.

No matter what I did, at some point, I ended up walking alone on a deserted street, listening numbly to the sound of my sobs. My thoughts were terrible company, but they made themselves present, holding conversations with each other while I shoved them away.

_I love him. Loved him. Love or loved? Or neither? Am I better off? Will I go running back? Will he chase me? Will he move on? Will he hate me? Will I hate him? _

I cried and wallowed in unpleasant truths set on repeat in my mind. The cold barely subsided when I eventually reached home.

*

I locked the door to my room with a trembling thumb, hearing the satisfying click that meant that no one could invade my cloud of misery. I was still making noise- these little whines and sniffles that sounded like a puppy who had just been kicked- but I couldn't hear it. It was grilled into the background, along with my bed, which I flopped upon, and the rest of the tiny room. And the background faded from sight the minute I let myself cry in full, pressing my face into the pillow.

My phone buzzed against my leg. If buzzing from a prehistoric phone could sound in any way ominous, mine did. Through my descending veil of depression I flipped the phone open and pressed it to my ear, trying to sound respectable for whoever was on the other line.

"Did you break up with Freddie?" It was Carly, her voice soft. I tried to piece together how she had found out, how Freddie had told her; he had probably run up to her apartment the minute I broke the news. She wasn't screaming. Was that a good sign?

"Hmm?" I said intelligently.

"You. Freddie. Break-up. Did it happen?"

Sounds collected at the back of my throat. I wanted to cry. Speaking was the ultimate challenge. "Yeah. How- how did you…?"

"He came storming back into the Bushwell with tears in his eyes. Why?" she asked, still quiet, still harmless. She was like a kitten you share all your problems with, because kittens don't judge, and they certainly don't give their opinions. Suddenly I wanted a kitten. Maybe there was one prowling around the trailer park, some dungy thing I could spruce up and name Billy.

"Uh… w-well…" I stuttered, my voice hitched and broke, the tiniest of sobs snuck into the end of the fragmented half-sentence. Pathetic and sad.

"Oh no. You're upset, of course you don't want to talk. This isn't a talking time. I shouldn't have called."

"No! Well, I don't really wanna _talk_, but- don't… don't get off the line, okay?" I said weakly. I had been all ready to be alone for hours, but Carly's voice, and the soothing knowledge that another living being with a heartbeat just like mine was connected to me somehow had inspired a desperate need for company.

We didn't really talk. I sat there whimpering while Carly chatted respectfully about the portion of her day I hadn't heard about. She left out anything about Jake, and just spoke for the sake of speaking. I numbly absorbed what she said; she had finished her homework for the weekend, Spencer had crafted a fish out of hot dogs, nothing good was on tv.

I started to sob.

"Sam?" Carly sounded incredibly alarmed. She was anxious, too- wondering what she had said that had set off the waterworks. I couldn't do anything… just sit there and cry, clutching the phone.

"I'm sorry," I said thickly. "I don't know… I… can I talk to you Monday?"

I hung up before she could respond. There was a knock at my door, timid and soft.

My mother stood in the doorway with a mug filled to the top with strawberry jello.

"Hey," I said, startled, wiping away whatever tears still lingered on my face. She shifted awkwardly.

"Here." She held out the cup. "I made too much- it's your favorite, right?"

I took the jiggling mug, clasping it in awe; she left before I could say a word of thanks.

My lip trembled threateningly as I stared at the gesture of kindness from someone so obtuse. She cared.

I thrust the cup onto my nightstand before collapsing into a rocking sea of flavored tears; bitter, confused, worried, ashamed.

Grateful.

*

I walked into school on Monday smiling.

Sure, I was dreading seeing Freddie, worried about breaking down in the middle of the day, just plain stressed- but over the weekend I had spent a lot of time sitting in my room, thinking. I had envisioned many scenarios in which I may become trapped, and the multiple ways I could make it through the week. My mind felt organized, set on an unpleasant task with hearty enthusiasm. So I smiled.

Carly waited by her locker as she usually did, busying herself with something inside the little metal rectangle while glancing surreptitiously around for me. I bounded across the floor before squeezing her shoulder. "Hey, Carls. Miss me?"

"Sam!" Carly looked like she wanted to hug me, but mercifully refrained. One thing I didn't need was eighty 'concerned' high schoolers asking me what I was upset about for six hours.

"How are you?" she practically whispered, drawing more attention to herself than she would have if she had spoken at a normal volume. I shoved a few books into my locker.

"Happy as can be," I lied. She looked skeptical at my ear-to-ear spontaneous grin, but took it in stride.

"Oh, the science quiz!" Carly squealed. "I forgot all about it! I have it after lunch… tell me you studied."

"I did." The knowledge was disconcerting. But now I remembered. Sometime between my sporadic fits of hysteria and quiet, unearthly bouts of silence, I had managed to cram in a few brief study sessions. Now my grin came from the place in my heart that manipulated positive emotions, tweaking my lips until all vestiges of unhappiness faded glumly into the lockers.

Carly beamed, eyes suddenly lit with a fire I had only ever felt, never witnessed. It was the illumination that sparked from guilty hope. "Scientific Method?" she confirmed nervously. "And metric conversions?"

"This is seventh grade stuff, it's just a review," I assured her. "Don't sweat it, Carls."

"You're a lifesaver, Sam. And not just someone who saves lives; you're the candy, which is way better, in my opinion."

A great swooping arc of happiness overtook me. That is, until Carly asked--

"Hey, have you seen Freddie yet?"

The arc crumbled mid-swoop. "Uh," I stammered, "no, I… we don't have classes together, except English, and that's…"

"Sorry!" she said immediately. "I wasn't even asking in a 'is-it-going-to-be-awkward' way, it was just natural, like 'have-you-seen-Freddie's-dorkirific-sweater-vest'."

We rebuilt the conversation and had a pretty good chat until homeroom. Still, she had upset my confident train of thought, and it threw me for the rest of the day.

*

Then there was English, which I knew would be awkward. Of course, since I had been in a fairly good mood, those 45 minutes that inched by with the speed of a crippled snail crushed me.

Our seats kept changing throughout the year; that day, Freddie sat in front of me, of course. I was already in my seat when he entered the room. I made the mistake of looking up, as one does.

Our eyes locked, mine void of apologies, his cold with anger. We glanced away two seconds later, but those two seconds chipped away at my determination. I began to sweat. I had forgotten, in our hours apart, how _cute_ Freddie was.

My teacher droned on. In fact, she droned even before she opened her mouth, the promise of words echoing in ears that rejected knowledge. Still, we heard, we digested, we left.

I couldn't- or, more specifically, didn't- focus on what the teacher had to say, though I'm sure it was simply enthralling. The back of Freddie's head seemed much more important, every curving strand of hair, the way his t-shirt fell over slumped shoulders. I wanted to spin him around and tell him I was sorry, but the apology would have been empty. A shell of a true, heartfelt apology, one that would crumple under further investigation.

Well, I had to say _something._ Freddie sank lower and lower throughout the period, like the weight of my presence was gradually grinding him into the ground. I hated knowing that I was causing him pain. Now that I thought about it, he had had circles under his eyes when he had walked in… Freddie lost sleep over me?

I quietly tore a corner off one of our worksheets, scribbling down five words: _Meet me by Carly's locker._

These words were quickly erased, as I had no idea what I would say. 'Hey, I still don't want to be your girlfriend, I just don't want to feel bad about it'? He would walk off with that disgusted look and I'd hate myself.

I tried again. _We need to talk. _Again, it sounded like I would try to get back together with him. Erase, scrub, erase. _I'm sorry._ Yeah, that's obvious. He'd look at me all confused for a minute and we wouldn't speak for a month. Erase, erase. Soon, it would turn into a Peanuts cartoon; I'd erase my entire desk, with one wisp of black smoke remaining.

"Miss Puckett, really, what is so important that you must write it down now?" Mrs. Wolffe's exasperated voice made me jump a foot in the air. The class craned their necks to get a good look at whoever had rumpled the teacher's feathers. As if they didn't stare at me enough.

"Sorry," I mumbled. The tiny corner of paper had smeared lead from frayed edge to frayed edge; you could still make out a few words- 'I'm', 'to', and 'me' stuck out nicely.

"You didn't answer me." Great. She was in a punishing mood. On one of her more laid back days, Mrs. Wolffe would just stare at me for a minute, trying to figure out what the heck was wrong with me, then continue with her dusty ranting. Not today. Today, she marched down the aisle with an outstretched hand. I could have impaled the note on one of her pointed nails easily.

She took the note, going out of her way to avoid actually touching my hand. _Don't worry, Mrs. Wolffe, stupidity isn't contagious. _Her eyes flicked over the tiny space time and time again, finding nothing but eraser shavings and blurred ghosts of letters. I sat with my hands in my lap as the teacher's brow become increasingly furrowed; kids started to whisper.

"Page 81 in your texts, class," Mrs. Wolffe announced loudly, stuffing the sly paper into her pocket. "Sentence structure. On the last test, over half the class lost points for missing commas. Come on, kids. This is easy."

I grinned into the palm of my hand, but something was missing from my solitary celebration. Usually, when dodging a punishment, I felt elated, even giddy; now, I experienced a minor thrill, a lame one. If I had just paid attention, resisted writing the stupid note, nothing would have happened.

Okay, so I wanted to be a good girl. I wanted to change myself after all. I had thought this all through before. It was old news. Maybe I should stop obsessing over Freddie and actually listen. There might be nuggets of knowledge in Mrs. Wolffe's lectures yet.

Though Freddie made surreptitious movements that suggested he wanted me to continue writing the note, I tapped into the stream of words I usually scoffed at and felt that much smarter by the end of the period.

*

Through the rest of the day I was pretty darn good. Not great- that would come in time, I still ticked off most of my teachers- but better. That's a start, right?

There was something freeing about walking down the hallways without that unsettling (yet wonderful) feeling being so madly in love gives you. The reassuring weight of my notebooks and texts kept my mind focused on avoiding other kids, purposeful bullets whipping by me so fast I felt their breath dance on my skin. Freddie passed by me once or twice, wistfully looking for the note I had written. My eyes stared ahead.

I made it to the very end of the day, past lunch, past math, past even gym- with my hair slicked back with sweat, I had exited the gymnasium with tired pride. Everything was going my way.

The bell rang its obscenely loud 'brrrring', and I hurried to my locker, eyes set on the doors that would lead me outside to freedom. Away from Freddie. Because even though I felt freer, Freddie was still _there_, carving a cavity in my chest with his absurdly constant presence.

My books slid easily into my backpack. Nothing stuck. I didn't fumble. As kids streamed about me, knocking into my shoulders, I zipped up the bag and thrust it over my shoulder, accidentally head butting Carly on my way out.

"Is this the new ankle shake?" she asked, blinking from the pain. "A secret head butt?"

"Didn't mean to," I said exasperatedly. Some guy shoved me harder than necessary to reach his locker; I shoved back with a vengeance, sending the kid smashing into the metal. He swore, glared, and turned away.

Carly ignored this with a slight wince. I suddenly had a terrifying thought.

"Oh, Carly- what are we gonna do about the webshow?"

Carly looked sheepish. "Freddie's temporarily resigned." My eyes widened. "We have a stationary camera, and he's left us books full of nerdy knowledge. He told me to tell him when it'd be okay to come back."

"Aw, man."

She opened her mouth again. A syllable- nay, a letter- just made it out, a singular "I", before Carly's eyes flew open and she gasped dramatically.

"Freddie," she hissed. "Coming this way. Ooh, he looks ticked off."

"He shouldn't be." But I was still nervous. "Uh… I'll run."

"Sam!"

I blushed furiously at my name on Freddie's lips. I halted, turning slowly; Carly squeezed my shoulder and departed with a breathless 'Good luck'. The world blurred, teenagers and teachers becoming stretched masses of color, with Freddie still in perfect clarity. My chest constricted.

"Hey," I said awkwardly. "What's… up?"

His eyes _pierced. _"C'mon," he said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into a vacant classroom.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing Freddie said once we were completely alone. I barely heard.

"Huh?"

"Just-- I need to know…"

He wasn't making any sense. I stared for a minute, while he stood looking utterly adorable.

"Okay," I said carefully. "Your words are goin' in one ear and out the other."

"Are we going to get back together?" he said softly. "Ever?"

I stared at him blankly. "Freddie, I broke up with you--"

"I yelled at you. You were miserable. I just want to know if we might ever…" Freddie's eyes dropped to his shoes. Nerdy, handpicked-by-a-certain-Sam-hating-mother shoes. "I love you. And I'm just… sorry. I'm sorry."

"I love you too," I answered without regret. His eyes snapped up, brimming with freshly born hope--

"I'm not asking you out again," I said quickly. "I-- oh, Freddie."

My stomach lurched. We were so alone in that classroom, my voice instantly absorbed by the walls, as if speaking meant nothing. I had gone over this last night, but to explain it to the boy himself…

"I'm not comfortable," I said. "With myself, or with you. Being with you-- near you, next to you-- hurts. I feel lame. I'm a bad kid, Fredward, and I don't want to be anymore. I want to change. So… let me change."

"I don't…"

"I need time," I blurted. "Just give me time to feel better about my crappy life. Then, maybe… maybe. Just maybe."

"Your life isn't crappy," Freddie said, a hitch in his voice. "Sam, you're so amazing--"

"This is what I mean," I snapped. He shrunk back against the door, a scorned puppy unsure why he was being punished. "I don't think I'm amazing. Every time you say that, I shout, _I'm not_. You see me weirdly, ya lovesick dork."

He stood, obviously not understanding. How could I simplify it any further?

"Once I see myself like you see me," I said, "I'll tell you. Well, maybe not exactly how you see me, 'cause then I'd be a serious narcissist."

I made to leave. For some reason, I expected Freddie to grab me, to hold me back, barring the exit with another cry of love. When it didn't come, I traveled home with the bittersweet taste of finality swirling around my mouth. He got it. And if he didn't, I wouldn't let myself explain it again. I couldn't chance being alone with him again, not if I didn't want to come flying back into his arms that quickly.

*

I'll admit it; it wasn't always easy being the person I wanted to be, that sweetened Sam I saw in my mind's eye. I'd been the way I was for my entire life. Change takes an amount of effort I'd rarely put into anything.

It was gradual, and I hated most of it. There's so much that makes a girl angry, and not being able to express it- forcing myself not to shove Gibby into a locker every time the kid opened his mouth, for instance, was especially difficult. There's only a certain number of times you can watch someone take off his shirt before you snap. But I was pretty darn good.

iCarly went better than I could have imagined. We announced with forced smiles that Freddie had temporarily left the show- the viewers weren't terribly upset, though some complained. Carly made some joke about me mailing his tripod to Africa, and he would be chasing it down for a couple months. It all went pretty well. We thought up funny sketches, little gags- it just wasn't as technically savvy as usual.

In school, I raised my hand, gathering together the budding concepts in my brain to form an acceptable answer which the teacher took with a bemused smile.

I worked, too. Worked and worked until I fell asleep on piles of paper, and dreamt that pencils were attacking me, shouting, "Write! Write! Write!" My grades skyrocketed.

Now, I'm talking about a four-month period of time, here. You don't just turn over a new leaf in a day. And, as you might have guessed, those four months were virtually Freddie-free. I avoided him at all costs, feeling an inexplicable tug at the heart when I had the bad luck to catch his eye. I focused with such intensity on becoming someone new but familiar, a better Sam without dropping any important morals, Freddie rarely invaded my conscious mind.

My _un_conscious mind, however, thought about Freddie way more than it should have. After a long day of pretentious hand-raising and good times with friends (I made a lot more of those after expanding what I looked for in a friend; aka, not just Carly), I'd sink into bed and drift off into one of about seven recurring dreams.

These dreams always involved Freddie; well, that's a lie. These dreams were scarily Freddie-centric. This is the most frequent one, something that haunted me for more nights than I care to disclose:

NIGHTMARE

I walk into a very Disney-ish house, a beautiful, cartoony cottage with powder-blue shudders and a matching roof. A handsome yet faceless man awaits me in the parlor.

We embrace, and something within me recognizes him as my husband. The love I feel is deep, tethering me to the man standing at least a head taller than me. Children- at least two- flit about our ankles like fairies, smaller than normal kids and far cuter (again, I don't see their faces, but still, they're adorable).

Then, I look out the window, and Freddie's there, still a high school kid, though I've grown to be at least thirty. He's standing in the rain, drenched in mud, eyes imploringly searching mine for a remaining glint of our old connection. I don't break away from my husband, but still, I can't stop looking at Freddie's face- he's pathetic.

No. No, of course he's not. He's Freddie, not something to be pitied. Just because I'm married, I got over him, I _grew_…

Tears stream down Freddie's dirty face. His lip barely trembles, glare never wavering, but he's suddenly soaked in his own tears, the salt water streaking paths down his jaw, neck, and shirt.

I don't care. I'm on the inside, staring out; Freddie's the one out in the rain, ravaged by nature, I'm safe. My chest is cold, metallically so. Eyes hardening to ice. All the while, my family circles me in a happy daze. Finally, I look away from the window, just for a moment, to scoop up one of my darling children. When I turn back, Freddie's gone.

The child in my arms nestles against me. My husband grips my shoulder lovingly. The sky clears, basking my perfect world in a romantic light.

I scream like a banshee until every pristine window in the cottage shatters to shards of jagged glass.

END OF NIGHTMARE

I always wake up shivering down to my soul. I hate those nightmares. They're never explained, and I usually forget most of them a few minutes later, but in that first minute or so, I blearily mumble about Freddie and drenching rain and glass covering a cottage floor.

Once I fall back asleep, I'm fine. The next day, I'm right as rain (but not the rain in the dream… that was bad rain), ready to start anew.

*

I don't want you all thinking I lost my edge.

'Cause I didn't.

Never will.

If some idiot's really, really pissing me off, I _will_ show the kid a thing or two. Because some people need certain things shown to them. A boy a grade below me performed a very thorough investigation of the inside of the cafeteria trash can after muttering something incredibly degrading about Carly to one of his buddies. I didn't feel guilty at all. In fact, I felt much better after shoving the guy through day-old macaroni.

I think that fiery part of me helped me evolve the right way. For months, I buckled down in school, hung out with kids I'd never spoken to before, and eventually became someone I could smile at in the mirror; but if someone were to time-travel my fifth grade self to the present, and compare the two of us, they'd say, "Oh, of course! You're her!" The two of us would then proceed to steal the person's time machine and visit prehistoric times. I'd give my fifth grade self a pterodactyl, and hope she used it in good taste.

Sometimes I thought about who I'd be in ten, fifteen years. Some promising young… whatever I wanted to be, out in the world, charming people with my dry wit and sock-swinging abilities.

I hoped I wouldn't soften too much. The tough-as-nails attitude had gotten me pretty far, and even if I became more sensitive or whatever, I hoped I would still be able to throw a punch and laugh at the punch-ee afterwards.

*

Life's a jerk, you know that? You think you've got everything pretty figured out- grades, friends, even your weird mom- and it just sucker punches you in the stomach as soon as you're truly comfortable with everything around you. I'm not saying it isn't always nice. Sometimes, life gives you a break. But it's damn confusing.

A couple months after the conversation with Freddie in the empty school classroom, I had been walking down the hall at the end of the day, fumbling with my books and catching stray papers as they fled from my arms, and he was striding in the opposite direction. It had been a long but fairly rewarding day. I had gotten an A on an English paper, a well-deserved grade, if I do say so myself. I was in a self-congratulatory mood.

Our eyes locked, as they had countless times before. I prepared to glance away, mentally groaning at the thought of another awkward confrontation.

But… it wasn't awkward. In those beautiful eyes, I no longer saw all my past humiliation, all my terrible decisions, every wrong word that had slipped from between my lips to ruin a would-be pleasant conversation; now, with a new attitude intact, I just saw very pretty eyes. Eyes I wanted to look at a while longer.

I was ready. I _knew_. With a relieved and long-awaited smile, I rushed to my locker and planned.

*

"S-Sam?"

Freddie had a right to sound surprised, even terrified. It had been a while since I had called his phone.

"Hey," I said. "Can you meet me somewhere?"

I could hear his breath, uneasy and measured. "Uhm… maybe."

"Just across the street from your place. I'm, uh, kinda there now." I grinned sheepishly. I probably should've been embarrassed, but my elation overrode any other emotion, twisting anything that popped into my head into something joyful.

"Yeah. Okay. But, why…?"

"Just get over here," I laughed, trying not to sound too ecstatic. I snapped my phone shut, tossing it up in the air and watching it clatter on the pavement. I didn't care. It wasn't broken, it was old and durable, ratty old thing- I had wanted to throw it, so I had. Again, I laughed out loud.

_There's a chance he might reject you. He could've moved on. Anything's possible._

My thoughts were such party poopers. I cut off mid-giggle, but the drop in happiness didn't last long. Freddie emerged from the apartment complex a moment later, worriedly playing with his jacket sleeves. He scanned the horizon, squinting against the fading sunlight, brightest just as it was departing. I waved.

He was far too slow. Freddie crossed the parking lot in, like, five minutes. I would have run. It was like he was approaching the gallows. After excruciating minutes of waiting, I leaped across the deserted street, nearly tripping twice, but fate wouldn't knock me down now- not now.

I didn't know what I was doing. I hadn't thought this through very well; just run and hug, had been the original plan. He didn't look like he wanted to hug. Or touch, or make eye contact, or acknowledge each other's existences. So I froze three feet from him.

"Hi," I said breathlessly. "Thanks for stepping out."

Those eyes! His hair! Everything I hadn't really looked at in months was hitting me like I had never seen him before. Every fine detail bowled me over.

"Hmm. What's up?" Freddie's stare was extremely blank, and I worried… could he have moved on? I had made him unhappy for months.

Oh, god, what do I say? There were so many words inside, millions of 'em, but none were volunteering to come out. Just a few, I pleaded. Just to tell him how amazing he is.

"H'okay," I said. "I don't really know how to say this. So, interrupt if you've got something better."

He raised an eyebrow.

"So, I've spent a lot of time cleaning up my act," I said, stating the obvious. "Which was, y'know, my plan, and all. I feel good about myself now. I like myself. I've been writing a ton- you've got to read some of this, I've got like three notebooks full. Life's so good now. I wish I had started trying a long time ago."

"I'm glad you're happy," Freddie said in a strained voice. He kicked the road with a toe. "I love seeing you happy." He blushed. "But is this… going somewhere? My mom doesn't know I'm gone."

"I'm not totally happy." For someone who wasn't totally happy, I sounded choked with joy. "Aw, Fredward, I really, really love you."

He flushed deeper. I grinned at the ability to make him blush; it was so fun!

But he wasn't responding right… no 'I love you, too's. "Don't tell me you've got a girlfriend!" I groaned. My happiness would wear off eventually, and if he had seriously gotten someone else, I would be crushed. Beyond crushed.

"No," he enunciated carefully. My heart leaped. "But are you really asking me out? Again? No tears?"

"No tears," I promised.

Still, he was hesitant. "Are you sure? Really, really sure? Sam, I've been waiting for this, I was hoping and hoping- but if I still make you miserable, I want to know. I don't want to make you sad. You're the best, and I'm glad you feel better now, but if I'm the weak link here--"

"Shut up, loser!"

I kissed him for the first time in months. It was actually pretty awkward, bumping noses and everything, but I couldn't have asked for more. And there, I was complete. The pieces of my life clicked together. Freddie had to physically shove me away.

I still felt he might not care for me the same way, until I looked up into a beaming face, positively glowing with pure adoration. I was making those eyes shine, his mouth turned up in a huge smile… this better work out, because I wasn't going through another breakup like the last one.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a nearby bench, where we discussed the few months spent apart in great detail. We worked out what we would do about his mom- I would approach her, give her a respectable piece of my mind- and it would all work out, because we'd make it work out. We were Sam and Freddie. I loved our names together.

Sitting there on a bench at the end of the day, cloaked by warm rays of bleeding light, my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, talking like there was no tomorrow, I wondered… who would ever, ever break up when they could have this? Perfection, or as close as we would ever get to it?

Maybe not everyone had what I had. But I couldn't think about others now, because then it was just us alone in the world, a world of beauty, understanding, and ear-to-ear smiles just 'cause he existed.

And it sunk in; he _existed._ My other half, my soul mate, the one I could call in the middle of the night because I had an unexplained dream about oatmeal cookies battling glasses of orange juice with toothpick swords.

A lone drop of water escaped my eye, one single trickle of disbelieving joy.

"Sorry, I promised no tears, I know," I said.

Freddie touched his finger to it. "I think I can forgive you," he said without a hint of sappy romance. There was the underlying tone of love, though, that I hoped never faded from his voice. "I might cry too."

That was a bit too sappy for my tastes. I shoved him roughly to cover the multiple tears dancing down my cheeks; my universe narrowed down to Freddie's laughing face, features bright with a contagious smile, and, finally, a new chapter in my life started fresh, the old volume- full of tales of scummy boyfriends and pretentious Bensons- tossed from the shelf.

This was happiness. Pride, love, laughter, joy. I had no intention of leaving that bench anytime soon.


End file.
